Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3) (86 page)

The remaining two squadrons had been thrown so far off course they couldn't engage. They and the damaged bombers and fighters that had gotten singed or shot up limped back to the fleet ahead of the main body.

Commander Wilder had time to watch the enemy pick off the torpedoes as they came in. Unfortunately, most of the squadron commanders had fired on the capital ships, not the screen. The screen that wasn't engaged moved in to cover their larger consorts. Their defensive fire picked apart a lot of the torpedo strike. Less than a quarter got through to strike the enemy fleet. Shields went down here and there, and a few ships bucked, rolled, or drifted with trails of vapor and debris in their wakes.

But even as she watched, they settled down onto their old heading and got underway again. She swore and then turned her fighter about.

“Back to the barn people. Anyone at Bingo fuel, let your squadron commanders know. Commanders, I want a nose count pronto,” she ordered.

Admiral De Gaulte watched the last torpedo ram into
Potemkin's
keel. The shields rippled but then fell, allowing the breacher head to ram through. It pierced the ship but at just the right angle for most of its armor penetrating warhead to be deflected to vent most of its charge into the empty void.

“That's it, sir; they are turning tail now,” Catherine reported. “The bombers are asking for fuel and orders, sir.”

“Obviously they can't pursue,” Sedrick growled.

“No, definitely not,” Myron stated.

“DCC reports are coming in from all over the fleet. We lost a tin can, but we're good otherwise, sir. So far no major structural or hyperdrive damage. Shields will come back on shortly,” Catherine reported.

The admiral nodded. The major strike had indeed been beaten off by Zakhan at the expense of his own life and most of the fighter screen from
Nimitz
and the other ships. But now they were home free.

“Get our damage control sorted out pronto. Jeremy, plot our exit vector.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

:::{)(}:::

“Sir, we've detected … it's been confirmed by
Maine's
CIC. Jump charging detected in the enemy fleet,” a rating reported.

“Damn!” Kyle muttered.

“You've got that right. They waited until they beat off the damn fighters and bombers before they did it. Now that they are rearming, they are going to jump,” Garfield growled.

“And there is nothing we can do to stop them,” Jojo said, coming over to stand beside him.

“Not a damn thing,” the orange Neocat sighed. He flicked his ears. “Gotta give the enemy credit; they saw the trap and kept themselves out of it.”

“It just means we'll have to try harder next time,” Kyle said.

“Definitely. I so was looking forward to this rematch,” Garfield replied, ears still flat with annoyance.

Chapter 35

“They've jumped, sir,” Kyle reported an hour later as he turned to his admiral. The Neochimp nodded in response.

“Secure from battle stations,” Amadeus said. “Post battle chores people. I want an analysis on their heading and what damage we did,” he ordered.

Admiral White realized the enemy had been tentative; it was the only behavior that fit their actions. They had been cautious, quite possibly considering every possibility including any stealthed ships he had lurking around. They'd had every right to be cautious. He smiled slightly at that idea. That opened interesting possibilities for the future, like running a couple ships towing decoys … he cut the thought aside and tucked it away for later.

“Either they were worried about losses or they had something else up their sleeves,” he observed as he tapped at his station controls. “They definitely knew about the DNs,” he said.

“Should we go after them, sir? Run them down?” Jojo asked. From the sound of her voice, she didn't think too highly about it. The balance of forces outside of Protodon would still be in their favor. They both knew that, but they wouldn't be able to take the fortress fighters and bombers with them. Nor would they be able to haul many missile pods with them.

“No,” the admiral said after a long moment. He played with his lip as he replayed the exit vectors of the departing ships. His frown deepened. Something didn't add up; their vector was wrong to jump to B-95a3. They
might
adjust in hyper but something itched at his thought process. “No. Get our remaining damage under control and get the fighters and bombers cleaned up and on board. Get everyone resupplied now. Get me a SITREP on everything including when our next relief force is due in. This isn't over.”

He wasn't certain about that, but he had to listen to his gut.

“Aye aye, sir. We'll fire off a report to the Admiralty as well, sir,” the Neobonobo stated with a nod.

“Yes that too. I'll type out my part in a moment,” the admiral said, still going over the replay of the battle at high speed. “I suppose we should let the people on Protodon know the good news too,” he said.

“Yeah, so they can breathe and sleep tonight,” Kyle said. “The barbarians have been driven off once more into the night,” he said.

:::{)(}:::

“We're still getting reports in, sir,” Catherine said as the ship settled into the first octave of hyperspace. There had been a bit of bumps along the way to make a few nervous.

“All ships accounted for?” Admiral De Gaulte asked.

Catherine shook her head. That brought the admiral up short. His eyes narrowed. “What?”

“We've lost two destroyers and a cruiser.”

“Damn,” Sedrick murmured.

“They might have jumped far enough out for us to miss it, but I doubt it,” Jeremy stated. All eyes turned to the navigator. “The tin cans took a lot of hits,” he warned.

“Everyone did,” Berney growled. “Fortunately, we didn't lose any of the capital ships,” he said.

“It's a mixed blessing,” Sedrick murmured.

“Oh? For my sake it's a good blessing. We're still here, right?” the chief of staff demanded. The Spook nodded.

“Get me a damage report on all the ships. Start with any recent changes from the last report. Make certain everyone is doing their best to fix it. Catherine, I want a SITREP on our logistics and an inventory on our counter missiles and parts.”

“Fighters are expended. We've got two left, both damaged, sir,” Catherine reported instantly.

“Missiles weren't fired. We've got plenty of offensive fire power. It's the counter missiles where we're hurting at,” Myron reported.

“Get me that report. Obviously we can't resupply, but we can work on the internal repairs.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Should we translate up an octave sir? Put on some speed? I mean if the other ships can handle it,” Jeremy said hastily.

“No. Not yet. Just get on the repairs,” the admiral ordered. “Jeremy, see me in my office in a moment,” the admiral ordered.

“Aye, sir,” the navigator replied with a frown. Catherine frowned as well as the admiral turned away from them. She glanced at the others. Berney shrugged. Myron was already head down, working on the counter missile inventory. Her frown deepened, but she too got to work.

:::{)(}:::

Chief Riker swore viciously as he worked on the damage report. Every ship had been damaged to various degrees. He'd heard about
Devil's Archer
,
Bitchslap
, and
Reaper
. Tough breaks for all of them. He hadn't known anyone on those ships, but he felt for their crews.

Star Mauler
hadn't been close to any, so they couldn't really tell if any of the three ships had been lost for good or not. They might have broken up … or they might have crash translated back down into real space or up into another octave. There was no telling without someone near when they translated.

He glanced over to the Marines working on clearing some of the debris. The temptation to space the debris was strong, but he had learned to overrule it. It was awkward getting it out of the area and to somewhere it could be assessed and reworked, but necessary. Which was where the Marines came in. It might not seem like a job for a Prince Mason, but the young man had learned not to complain about the work.

He breathed in and out as a sweaty Mallory came over to him. She wiped at her brow and then took a drink from a sports bottle. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, wiping grease all over it. She spat, then looked at her hand and snarled something.

“Yeah, yeah. Good look for you,” Floyd said. “You have something for me?”

“Doctor Tabernaky said Bob will pull through,” she said.

“About the ship?” the chief engineer asked, not looking at her.

“Thought you'd want to know. Apparently not,” she said in an okay drawl. “Silly me. Anyway …”

“I did appreciate it. But right now keeping the ship running keeps us all alive. It's all about priorities. The good of the many outweighing the few.”

“Or the one. Boss, that is a stupid quote,” she said.

“But accurate.”

“Funny. Anyway, as I was saying, we've got the shield nodes evened out. The ventral and stern loads have been spread. No structural damage other than the minor shit you've got here. I've got the crew keeping an eye out for signs of buckling though.” She went to wipe her brow with the back of her hand, thought better of it, and then dropped her hand to her tank top to lift it up to wipe her brow. “Compartments Echo four through ten are still in vacuum. We've got dead in two of them according to DCC. The trapped crew who survived have been evaced,” she reported.

“Good,” the chief replied, making a note in his own report. He was due to give it to the captain and XO shortly.

“Damn it, boss, we just finished fixing some of this shit, we were nowhere near done, and now we've got to start all over again!” Mallory snarled, waving an impotent hand.

Mason looked up from where he was working, snorted and then went back to it.

“Yeah, I know. The good news is; practice makes perfect I suppose. And we're getting plenty of that,” the chief replied dryly.

“Some would say too much,” Mallory grimaced.

“Right. So, we keep doing what we're doing. Patch what we can.”

“Aye aye, sir,” the assistant chief said wearily.

“I didn't say it'd be easy,” the chief said. “And yeah, I know, it sucks. And we may have to go through it again one or more times.”

“You heard something?” Mallory asked worriedly.

Floyd noted a few heads and ears cock in his direction. He snorted. “No, I've been down here with the grunts,” he said, indicating the work party just as a sailor started to cut away a twisted beam. The supporting brace had been hydraulically pressed into place. Tack welds held it there, but they needed a better fix soon.

Unfortunately, with the beam that had been there a mangled mess they couldn't rework it, which meant finding a replacement or piecing together something else. The expression “rob Peter to pay Paul” ran through his mind.

He couldn't just leave the temporary brace in place like some wanted to do. He had a dark feeling he'd need it again later.

“Sir?”

“Sorry,” he said, jerking as if startled. “Where was I? Oh, yeah. I think we all know the enemy's going to chase us. The shoe is on the other foot. And it's not like we can outrun them very fast,” he said, indicating the damage. “So yeah, I think we've got at least one more battle in the foreseeable future,” he said.

“Just as long as it's not tomorrow or the day after. I plan to sleep in,” Mallory said. Floyd snorted as she took off.

:::{)(}:::

Captain Red O'Shanasae nodded to Commodore Eichmann as the other man exited the officer's wardroom. “Everything all right, Captain?” the commodore asked.

“Just peachy, sir. We're still getting a handle on the damage but engineering says they are on top of it.”

“Good. Keep me posted,” the commodore ordered.

“Aye aye, sir,” the captain replied dutifully. Once the commodore was gone, he stepped through the hatch into the wardroom. He looked around the compartment and then went over to the kitchenette.

“So, we live to fight another day,” he murmured softly to himself. Something told him life would have been a lot simpler and a whole lot safer if he'd taken his father's advice and stayed in the Gather Fleet.

But then again, word was they were going to merge the two fleets eventually anyway. He mentally shrugged such concerns aside as he picked up a pastry and poured himself some juice concentrate. He'd have his coffee later. They had to ration things like that now, he thought. As captain he allowed himself two cups a day … unless stress dictated otherwise.

“Eggs, sir?” the cook asked, leaning through the pass through window.

“Scrambled,” the captain said, taking a seat at the head of the table. The chair was warm; undoubtedly the commodore had just vacated it. He turned until his eyes found a tablet. He looked up to the vid screen, but it was black and cracked. He shook his head, got up and grabbed the tablet, then sat back down again. He checked the ship's status board, fighting a yawn as his breakfast was made. “Life goes on,” he muttered under his breath as he switched to the fleet view. He scowled when he noted the three missing ships. “At least for some of us,” he growled.