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Vice-Admiral Ashton was satisfied that the 736th battlecruiser squadron had made a normal exit from the wormhole into the star system containing Starbase Tango Delta 39. He was about to get up and leave the Flag Bridge when he heard the electronic voice of the ship’s computer over the loud speakers.
“Starbase Tango Delta 39 reports being under attack by thirteen unidentified ships. Unable to establish communications with 305th heavy cruiser squadron.”
“Tactical!” ordered Ashton. The 3D holographic display settled down to a tactical representation of the TD39 system. The only icon representing a confirmed contact was the starbase. Without communication via faster-than-light longitudinal waves, there was no way to be sure where the heavy cruisers were. The hostile ships weren’t using warp drive and couldn’t be detected by more conventional means from this range.
Ashton cursed under his breath. If the starbase was taking hostile fire now, then he had to hurry. “Okay, Leader to squadron! We’re going to max warp now! All ships to Battle Stations! Stay in formation! Flagship will assign targets when we drop out of warp! As soon as you have targets, you may fire! Helm, keep the squadron at maximum warp as long as you can without overshooting the base. Get us as close to the base as possible.” He ignored the shocked expression on the Helm Officer’s face on one of his Command Station’s small screens. Dropping out of warp speed close to a starbase was possible. Decelerating from maximum warp to a dead stop quickly was also possible. Doing both at the same time was asking a lot.
As his flagship, the battlecruiser Thunderer, went to Battle Stations, everyone on the Flag Bridge quickly donned spacesuits, including Ashton. He was embarrassed to see that everyone else managed to get his or her suit on before him. As he finished putting his on, he realized that his hands were trembling. This was the first time that units under his command were going into a real battle. Thirteen hostiles sounded like a lot. He had eight battlecruisers, and there should be another eight heavy cruisers already in this system. The starbase itself had powerful beam weapon turrets, but it wasn’t armored and couldn’t move worth a damn.
“TD39 to Thunderer! Are you there, Thunderer?” The human voice over the loudspeakers seemed to be on the verge of panic.
“Thunderer here, Ashton commanding. What the hell is happening there?”
“We’re taking fire from thirteen hostiles! Most of our turrets are gone! Hulls breaches on eight decks! Lots of casualties! They must have detected your emergence from the wormhole because their fire slacked off immediately, but it hasn’t stopped. It’s almost as if they’re toying with us.”
“What about the 305th?” asked Ashton.
“Gone...destroyed or crippled. Those hostiles seem to be heavily armored. We haven’t detected signs that they took any damage at all from the heavies or from our turrets. Our tactical systems are damaged, Ashton. What’s your ETA?”
Ashton looked at the display sidebar. “We’ll drop out of warp in less than 95 seconds! Did you manage to notify other starbases of the attack?”
“Affirmative! At least we think our transmitters were still working long enough to do that. They’ve stopped firing at us. I think they’re getting into defensive positions for your arrival. They could have destroyed this base by now if they had wanted to. I think we’re being used as bait to lure your ships in. Break off now and head for the wormhole, Ashton, You can’t save us. Do you hear me? Break off!”
Ashton realized that everyone on the Flag Bridge was now looking at him. His orders were quite explicit. Bring the 736th to TD39 and protect it from hostile incursions. There were no conditional orders to withdraw if faced with overwhelming force. He had a feeling deep in his gut that his squadron was seriously outmatched by these 13 ships that hadn’t seemed to have taken any damage after facing 8 heavy cruisers. However, if he ordered the squadron to retreat now, he was certain that he would face charges of cowardice in the face of the enemy. His family had produced a string of flag officers for five generations. Bringing that kind of disgrace to the family name was more horrifying than the thought of his own death.
“Nobody is breaking off!” said Ashton as he turned to look at his Tactical Officer. “We’ll go with Alpha Five, Hanson.”
“Confirming fire plan is Alpha Five,” said the TO.
Ashton told his body to relax. The ship’s tactical computer would use the criteria of that firing plan to assign targets to all of the beam weapon turrets in the squadron. They were going to concentrate all fire on one enemy ship at a time. As each target was destroyed or crippled, firing would shift to another target. It was a risky strategy, but so was dividing their fire against multiple targets simultaneously. There was nothing left for Ashton or his Flag Bridge personnel to do now. Thunderer’s own Tactical Officer on the Main Bridge would make sure that Thunderer’s weapons followed the tactical plan. As far as maneuvering after dropping out of warp was concerned, any evasive actions that battlecruisers might be able to take would be useless at this close range. The 736th would come to a halt and would exchange energy weapon fire at virtual point-blank range with the enemy, and God help the 736th!
“Prepare for sudden decel!” shouted the Helm Officer.
Seconds later, the squadron began its crash deceleration from 4.4 times the speed of light to a few hundred meters per second velocity. Ashton knew he had only seconds left to make any changes to the orders. He wished now that he had not told the HO to get in close. If he hadn’t acted so impulsively, he would have kept the squadron beyond effective beam weapon range and fired the warp missiles, but everything had happened so fast, and it was too late to use missiles. If he used those missiles now, the exploding missile warheads, whose energies were focused into concentrated beams of searing power, would not only blind his squadron’s targeting sensors at this close range, but might even cause some damage to his own ships. He silently cursed his own stupidity for making the wrong tactical decision. But his family name could survive a charge of incompetence. At least he hadn’t made the mistake of retreating!
“ZERO WARP IN THREE...TWO...ONE...MARK!” The Helm Officer had barely finished yelling when Thunderer shuddered. The STO’s shout that they’d been hit was standard procedure but entirely unnecessary. Nothing else would have caused the ship to shake that way.
“We’re firing!...Target one hit! We got venting!” Ashton pounded his chair’s armrest. Venting meant the target had taken damage. The STO kept yelling. “Switching to second target! We’re firing again! More venting by God. We got’er! Switch—SHIT! WARLOCK’S BEEN BLOWN APART! DAUNTLESS HAS TAKEN HEAVY DAMAGE!”
Ashton closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as the results of his mistake were now becoming abundantly clear. The squadron was getting shot to pieces. He shut out the sound of the STO’s hoarse yelling. Thunderer will be hit any second now, he thought. He couldn’t help but hope that the next energy blast would hit the flag bridge and put him out of his misery. He got his wish.
* * * * *
DeChastelaine was still struggling to shake off the last remnants of sleep as he stumbled into the conference room and sat down at the console. He was expecting to see Hiakawa’s image awaiting him, but instead he saw the face of the Admiral’s Deputy Chief of Space Force Operations.
“Where’s Hiakawa, and why isn’t he available?” asked DeChastelaine in a clearly annoyed tone.
“I personally spoke with Admiral Hiakawa’s residential staff and was told by them that the Admiral left strict instructions not to be disturbed for any reason. After reflecting on the situation, I decided to take the initiative to inform My Emperor of the news directly.”
When it was clear that the DCSFO wasn’t going to say any more, DeChastelaine lost his patience. “All you’ve done so far is wake me up! You haven’t informed me of anything yet! What the hell has happened!”
That was not the response the DCSFO was expecting, and his expression showed it, but he quickly regained his composure and said, “Tango Delta 39 and the 305th heavy cruiser squadron have been attacked by at least thirteen alien ships. L-wave contact with the starbase was lost shortly after that message was received. All attempts to re-establish communications have been unsuccessful, My Emperor.”
DeChastelaine was surprised at how calmly he took the bad news. Starbases had redundant communications systems. If TD39 wasn’t transmitting anymore, chances were that it had suffered critical damage and perhaps even catastrophic damage. The heavy cruiser squadron would have tried to defend it and was probably destroyed too. Then he remembered about the battlecruisers.
“What do we know at this point about the battlecruiser squadron that was assigned to defend TD39?”
“Nothing for certain, My Emperor; however, if the 736th was on schedule, it would have arrived at that star system within a few minutes of the transmission of the last message.”
DeChastelaine cursed the fact that he wasn’t as well versed in the nuances of defensive strategy as the admiral who should be deciding what to do now but was unavailable because he was doing God knows what!
“What do you recommend, Admiral?”
“Ah, I don’t know if I should...”
When it was obvious that he wasn’t going to finish the sentence, DeChastelaine jumped in. “God damn it, Admiral, you’re the senior ranking officer present, and the Empire’s under assault! Now tell me what you think our best response should be or resign your post and get me whoever’s next in the chain of command!”
“Ah, well...if that alien fleet pushes straight on, they’ll find another starbase six wormholes further back. We should move the 107th fleet forward to protect that starbase. If we issue the orders quickly, they may be able to get there in time. I would also recommend that Rift fleets surrounding TD39 send recon squadrons laterally to determine what that alien fleet is doing. I’d have to check the data to be able to identify which fleets and where they are, My Emperor.”
“That’s better, Admiral. Now that I have some idea of what we should do, I want you to pass on MY orders for the 107th to move forward as quickly as its individual squadrons can move. Put all the Rift fleets on alert. Have the fleets around TD39 commence recon operations. Am I correct that there are no other fleets between the 107th and the Capital System?”
“That’s correct, My Emperor.”
“In that case, I want Capital Fleet to go on high alert status. All leaves are cancelled. You tell Capital Fleet Commander...no, I’ll do that myself. Do you have any other recommendations for me, Admiral?”
“Ah, not at this time, My Emperor. Admiral Hiakawa may not like these orders.”
DeChastelaine resisted the temptation to tell the DCSFO what Haikawa could do with himself. Instead, he took a deep breath and replied when he had calmed down. “If Admiral Hiakawa has different recommendations that make more sense, I’ll be glad to amend my orders, but until I change them, my orders stand regardless of what Hiakawa likes or doesn’t like. Is that clearly understood, Admiral?”
“Yes, My Emperor.”
“Good, you may break the connection and carry out my orders now.”
When the DCSFO was gone, DeChastelaine told the Palace Communications Center to open a channel to Capital Fleet’s flagship. As expected, the 4-star admiral commanding the fleet was asleep, and it took almost ten minutes before someone got him awake and in front of a video unit.
“My Emperor! This is most irregular. The chain of command—“
“I don’t have time for this chain of command foolishness, Admiral,” said DeChastelaine. “Everyone between me and you is either asleep or is carrying out my orders. A Rift starbase has been attacked, and we have to assume from the lack of communications that it’s been destroyed along with the 736th and 305th squadrons that were tasked with defending it. I’ve already given orders for the 107th Fleet to move forward to protect the next starbase in the enemy’s path of advance. Since that path of advance potentially leads here, I want Capital Fleet on full alert and able to move at a moment’s notice. All leaves are to be cancelled. How quickly can you get the Fleet up to that state of readiness, Admiral?”
“Ah, well ah...I don’t know off hand—“
“That answer is not acceptable, Admiral. You should know. Get to the Flag Bridge and find out. When you know the answer, contact the Palace. I’ll be waiting for your call, and I’ll be keeping track of how long I have to wait for it. Don’t make me wait too long, Admiral. I’m not in a good mood.” Before the shocked officer could respond, DeChastelaine cut off the connection. He then told the Comm. Center to contact Commander Hood. It only took a few seconds, but the connection was audio only, which made DeChastelaine smile. Apparently Corrinne Hood did not want her Emperor to see her when she had just woken up. For a half second he wondered if it was her sleep attire or lack thereof that was making her shy.
He quickly told her of the new situation and of the DCSFO’s recommendations. “What’s your opinion of those recommendations, Commander?”
“I, ah, can’t see any obvious flaws in his reasoning, My Emperor. As long as the Rift fleets don’t let themselves get pulled out of position and stick to careful recon operations, the risk of another surprise like this is small.”
“And your opinion of the Admiral commanding the 107th?” asked DeChastelaine.
“I’d have to check my datafiles, My Emperor. I’m sorry that I don’t have that information memorized.”
DeChastelaine nodded. Her datafiles included the sorting of all 3-star admirals including fleet commanders by ability. He had access to that data himself now. He proceeded to call up the file and quickly scanned it until he found the record for the 107th Fleet.
“I just remembered that I have that data, and it’s in front of me now, Commander. The 107th Fleet Commander is Fleet Admiral Pierre Corvosier, and he’s near the bottom of the list.”
Hood thought for a few seconds and then said, “His Deputy Fleet Commander might be more capable.”
DeChastelaine sighed. “Even if that was the case, I suspect that relieving Corvosier of his command might just be enough to make Hiakawa order the marines down here.”
“Not if you promote Corvosier and order him back to the Capital, leaving his DFC in temporary command, My Emperor.”
DeChastelaine chuckled. Hood was right. There were so many 4-star admirals at HQ already that one more wouldn’t make much difference, and if the promotion was a temporary one, he could always rescind it later when the prospect of battle was low.
“I had no idea you were that devious, Commander Hood. I like it. Can you access Space Force service records from your home?”
“Unfortunately no, My Emperor. Access to those records is limited to authorized HQ personnel and to staff on Palace premises only.”
“Well in that case, I want you back here as quickly as possible. I’ll arrange to have a Guard vehicle pick you up.” He paused. “And now that I think of it, I’m going to have a Guard vehicle pick up SubCommander Logan and have him brought to the Palace too. I suspect that you’re going to need help over the next few hours. Don’t worry, Commander. You can sleep all you want when this war is over.”
“That’s good to know, My Emperor. I’ll be ready by the time the Guard get here.”
“In that case, I won’t keep you any longer, Commander.” With the connection broken, he called the senior Guard officer on duty and told her to arrange the pickups. No sooner was he finished with that task than the Comm. Center notified him of an incoming call from Capital Fleet’s flagship.
“My Emperor, I have that information you requested. Capital Fleet can be ready to leave orbit in three hours if needed,” said the 4-star admiral who was now looking much more awake.
DeChastelaine was surprised that it wasn’t longer, but then he remembered that Capital Fleet no longer had any battlecruiser or heavy cruiser squadrons, and therefore getting people on leave back to their ships and topping up the ships’ supplies of consumables was less of a problem.
“Make sure it is, Admiral,” said DeChastelaine with what he hoped was sufficient menace in his voice. He cut the connection before the Admiral could say anything else.
By the time Hood and Logan arrived at the Palace, DeChastelaine had changed into something more fitting of his title. Running around the Palace in a silk bathrobe in front of his personal staff was acceptable, but interacting with visitors called for clothes that conferred a little more dignity.
It didn’t take Hood long to drop the next bombshell on her Emperor. “My Emperor, I’ve checked the service records of Corvosier’s senior officers. He has three two-star admirals under him. I regret to report that the best of the three is only marginally better at combat tactics than Corvosier himself. The difference is so small that there’s not much to be gained by promoting Corvosier’s replacement from within the 107th.”
DeChastelaine was seated close to Hood and Logan at a computer station. He turned to look at Logan. “If you have any suggestions on how we can prevent the loss of an entire fleet, SubCommander, I’m willing to listen.”
Logan exchanged a quick look with Hood and then cleared his throat. “I can think of two options, My Emperor. Commander Hood and I can scan the service records of every officer in the 107th and try to identify the ones who are best at combat tactics. Hopefully that fleet will have at least one officer who is significantly better than average. If we find such an individual, a personal message from My Emperor could be sent ordering Admiral Corvosier to listen to and follow the tactical recommendations of that officer without officially putting that officer in command of the fleet.”
“Hmm. If Corvosier is capable of putting his ego aside, that might work, but I wouldn’t want to have to count on that. You said you had two ideas. What’s the second one?”
“We find an exceptionally good tactician here and send him or her out to the 107th with an Imperial Warrant authorizing them to assume temporary command and hope they get there in time.”
DeChastelaine turned to Hood. “How fast could we get someone to that fleet, Commander?”
Hood had the answer within seconds. “A hundred forty-three hours from the time the ship leaves orbit. It would have to be a light cruiser. Luckily Capital Fleet still has some.”
DeChastelaine turned to look at Logan. “So we can either spend time looking for someone who is as skillful as you are, or I can just send you. Here’s your chance to command a fleet, SubCommander Logan.” In spite of the seriousness of the situation, DeChastelaine was able to see the humor in Logan’s momentary look of panic
“May I remind My Emperor that officers who have just received their first star typically spend a year at the Flag Officers College where among other things they receive training in advanced fleet combat tactics. The training at the Academy for cadets is usually ship-to-ship or involving small formations. Without the advanced training, I may not be any more competent than Fleet Admiral Corvosier.”
DeChastelaine mentally chastised himself for his oversight. He had gone through the Academy himself, and he now remembered those combat simulations. Sending Logan in cold to command a fleet without any previous experience or training was not only unfair to Logan, but was also asking for a disaster that would kill or ruin an officer with a lot of potential. An idea came to him.
“You raise a legitimate point, SubCommander. Here is what I want both of you to do. Commander Hood, you will initiate a search of records for officers in the 107th and identify the best three. Logan, you will perform the same kind of search of officers in Capital Fleet and SFHQ. Start at the top of the command chain and work your way down until you either find an exceptionally good tactician or I tell you to stop, whichever comes first. I’ll want a briefing from both of you in...four hours time. Any questions?”
Neither had any, and DeChastelaine left them to get started. He quickly made his way back to the video conference room and had the Comm. Center get the Superintendent of the Space Force Academy on the line. The woman didn’t seem surprised to be called by the Emperor in the middle of the night.
“I’ve heard about the alien attack. How may I assist My Emperor?” she said in a calm tone.
DeChastelaine was able to see the irony in the fact that this officer, who was not in the chain of command, had heard of the attack while Hiakawa, the Space Force Officer at the very top of that chain of command, still wasn’t aware of it.
“I don’t have time go into the details, but suffice it to say I have a very good mid-level officer who may have to take temporary command of a fleet. He has no fleet command experience and he hasn’t taken the Advanced Fleet Combat course. What is the minimum amount of time needed for someone to take that course on a crash basis, Admiral?”
“With practice sessions in the simulators, I’d estimate the minimum would be three hundred hours, My Emperor.”
DeChastelaine shook his head. “No. That’s too long by about a factor of two. If you eliminate the simulator sessions, how much time does that save?”
She stared off into space for a few seconds before replying. “It depends on the individual. Someone with a very good instinct for tactical thinking might be able to get through all the material in half the time.”
“Good! I want the instruction material assembled in a format that an officer can use while in transit aboard one of our light cruisers. Time is of the essence here, Admiral. I want that light cruiser to break out of orbit in a matter of hours not days. How soon can you have that material ready?”
“The more time I have, the better organized the material will be, My Emperor. I can have something ready in two hours but a package that will do a better job of upgrading your officer’s skills will take at least six hours.”
“I understand. Try to get that six-hour estimate down if possible, and have the two hour version ready in case we need to go with that. Any questions?”
“Just one, My Emperor. Where shall I have the material delivered?”
“Notify the Guard when either one is ready, and they’ll send someone to pick it up. When you’ve finished this ad hoc assignment, I want that six-hour package to be upgraded until it’s as comprehensive and streamlined as possible in a portable format in case we need to do something like this again.”
“Would My Emperor be thinking in terms of distributing this upgraded version to promising junior officers throughout the fleets?”
DeChastelaine was about to say no but stopped when he realized what an intriguing idea that was.
“Possibly. When we have more time, I’d like you to come to the Palace so that we can discuss that and any other ideas you may have to quickly improve the combat skills of my fleet officers. My staff will arrange a time. Thank you for your assistance, Admiral. Good night.”
When the Guard advised him that a training package had been picked up at the Academy, DeChastelaine decided that he had waited long enough. Getting the light cruiser to the 107th two hours sooner might make the difference between a good and bad outcome. The focused expressions on Hood’s and Logan’s faces when he walked into the room told him that they weren’t finished their searches.
“I know I gave you four hours, but I can’t wait that long. What have you found so far, Commander Hood?”
Hood leaned back from her console and took a deep breath. “I’ve evaluated over a hundred officers currently assigned to the 107th, and the best three so far, while above average in tactical combat skill, are not good enough to be considered outstanding, not even close to good enough, in fact. The 107th, like most of the Rift fleets, seems to have been used as a dumping ground for the barely competent.”
DeChastelaine nodded and looked at Logan. “SubCommander?”
Logan looked uncomfortable. His body language told the Emperor that he wasn’t happy with his results. “I regret to report that I’ve only been able to evaluate the top fifty flag officers in the HQ chain of command, and while the majority are above average in tactical skills, none of them are significantly better than average. I think I might have better luck with Capital Fleet, My Emperor.”
DeChastelaine shook his head and smiled. “I don’t think we can afford to take the time to do a thorough search now. I’m throwing you into the deep end, Logan, but before you panic, know this. I’ve arranged for a package of training materials on the Advanced Flag Officers’ Fleet Combat course to be put together and sent here. If you spend every waking minute on it on your way to the 107th, you might get through it all. Even if you don’t, you’ll still have a better grasp of fleet tactics than you do now. I’ve already made arrangements for a light cruiser to take you there. The Guard will take you back to your quarters to get your things, and then they’ll take you to the spaceport where a shuttle is waiting to lift you to Pegasus. Here’s your Imperial Warrant authorizing you to assume temporary command of the 107th, with complete authority to make whatever changes to her command structure that you deem necessary.” He handed Logan a gold-colored data tablet.
Logan took it with obvious reluctance. “I hope My Emperor understands that I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee a victory.”
“I do understand that, Logan. Your best is all I can ask for.”
“May I ask what my orders are when I take command of the 107th?”
“Well, that’s a good question, Fleet Commander Logan. Given your understanding of the situation, what do you think your orders should be?” asked DeChastelaine with a smile.
This time Logan smiled too. “I think defense of the Tango Epsilon 33 starbase should be a priority, with the caveat that if the 107th is facing superior enemy forces and is in danger of being destroyed, I have the option of withdrawing even if that means leaving the starbase undefended. If forced to retreat, the 107th should attempt to maintain contact with enemy forces while avoiding battle until it can be reinforced. If I feel that I have an opportunity to push the enemy away from TD33, I would like to have that flexibility in my orders too.”
DeChastelaine was impressed. It took a lot of courage to ask for permission to abandon the defense of that starbase if faced with a dangerously superior enemy force. A less competent officer would be tempted to use that loophole as an excuse to avoid battle, period. He didn’t think Logan would do that. He turned back to Hood.
“What are your thoughts on those orders, Commander, especially about retreating the fleet if faced by a superior force?”
“I agree with Sub—, ah, Fleet Commander Logan completely, My Emperor. If the 107th were to be destroyed, the only force left between the enemy and Earth would be Capital Fleet, which has been depleted of the bulk of its cruiser squadrons. I’d have to check the wormhole networks and fleet dispositions, but it may be that no other fleet could get here in time to reinforce Capital Fleet if the enemy pushes forward quickly. Keeping the 107th intact is, in my opinion, strategically more important than defending TD33 to the last ship.”
“I agree. Defending TD33 is meant to draw a line in the sand, ‘This far and no farther’. But the last thing we want to do is encourage them to push in further after destroying a whole fleet. If you have to retreat, try to evacuate the starbase personnel if you can, but don’t put the whole fleet at risk in doing so. I imagine that you’ll want those orders in writing before you leave?”
Logan looked a little embarrassed. “Not necessary, My Emperor. I switched the tablet to record when I asked the question. I have your verbal orders recorded now.”
Oh, that’s clever. Written orders are almost always open to some interpretation as to the intent behind them. If he has to defend his actions before a Court of Inquiry, my verbal orders will be hard to misinterpret.
“Good thinking. Time to get moving, Fleet Commander. The Guard has your training package. Good luck, and as a personal favor to your Emperor, try not to get yourself killed.”
“Yes, My Emperor.”
As soon as Logan left the room, DeChastelaine turned back to Hood.
“I see no reason why you need to stay here now, Commander. This search is no longer needed, and you can return to your strategic planning task in the morning. Go home and get some sleep, and I’ll try to do the same.”
When Hood had left, he returned to his personal quarters and made sure that his staff understood his explicit instructions not to wake him if Admiral Hiakawa called unless there was some new and urgent information.
As he climbed back into bed, his favorite sexbot offered to give him a gentle back massage, and within minutes, he was asleep.
