Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (49 page)

“True.”

"Both situations are possible I suppose. As is the possibility of any wrecks they towed out to that location but can't get out. That is how they've built their fleet."

Irons made a sucking face as he digested that. "I'm not liking the sound of that. Could it have something to do with their sudden jump-in ability? Manufacturing? Something they found? I really don't like the sound of it now," he growled.

"I don't like it any more than you do, sir. They picked up some scrap while going yo ho hoing around the neighborhood apparently. There was a lot of military scrap floating around in some areas," Sprite said. “Museums were raided for supporting material, but that doesn't mean everything was taken. Then there are other pirate dens that might have been found or ships.”

"And you think they could be salvaging the station? More ships?"

"What do you think? Turrets, power rooms, drives, shield emitters, grav emitters, magazines, hyperdrives, replicators, sick bays, cryotubes …," Sprite said helpfully.

The admiral nodded grimly. "Damn. You're right. We'll need to investigate."

"Which makes for a dilemma. How? we could peel off a light ship I suppose, but it's ten jumps from Syntia's world. Anything less than a cruiser means we'd need to send in support ships. They'd also go slow. We also don't know what they'd be sticking their neck into. All we have is a name and location."

The admiral frowned thoughtfully. She was right. He was expanding his thinking of the other sectors, but he couldn't divert a force at the moment. "Too many irons in the fire,” he growled. She nodded. “No, I think we can afford the time to build a proper force to investigate. Can we get a ride on a ship to Syntia's world? Get an intel team to follow-up, maybe talk to the ships going back and forth … what about that T'clock ship? They wouldn't have business with a pirate, but they may have picked up rumors …"

"Hammerschtel you mean? Send him in since it's his lead?" Sprite asked dubiously. “I thought you wanted him to go to Horath?”

"He and his Veraxin partner. Maybe their section leader, check with Monty. Technically he should be organizing this. If he's got something in the area, by all means hand it off to him and schedule a follow-up check in a while. But it is their lead, they should be the ones to follow it up if they can with a proper team to train them on the way of course."

"Um …"

"They have to start somewhere. We're drawn thin as it is. I don't want to peel off a warship if we are expecting attack. They can ride in a freighter heading in that direction if Monty has nothing."

"But …"

"But me no buts. Centennial's representative has insisted on a good screen and defenses so Phil is sending a division of frigates and a support ship next month. I'm doing the same for Syntia's world, and I know we sold two of the gunships to Syntia's World and New Texas. Centennial wants some too. But New Texas and Syntia's World have gone in together and leased a freighter scheduled to take the gunships in a month. Cut orders for the team to be drawn up with tickets on the same flight. Have their lieutenant ride herd on them as team commander if Monty doesn't have a team already in place. Give them orders to scout but don't let them know they are there if possible, and if it bears fruit, to report to Pyrax."

"Aye Aye, Admiral. Monty's not going to like the poaching," she reminded him.

"His problem. Get on it."

She made a show of sighing. "Yes, sir." She cocked her head. “One thing we can do is alert to the
Chic'ch'll
division moving through the area. They are headed to Pi after all.”

The admiral frowned thoughtfully.
Chic'ch'll
and her sister ship
Sharp Eyes
were indeed en route to Pi sector. They'd recently graduated from their working-up exercises. They had already passed through B-452c headed to Triang where they were supposed to resupply before headed onward to Senka and then up along the northeastern jump chain to Syntia world.

Phil had wanted to backstop and redirect them, but they'd already jumped for B-452c before the alert about Fourth Fleet had gotten to them. There were no ansibles in that dead star system, nor any in Briev. That was something they might have to rectify, if only to alert shipping in the area, the admiral thought.

But no, by the time they got to Triang the division would have to haul ass back to B-452c. The window was too tight for them to get there to make a difference. Besides, they could get better and more forces direct from Pyrax … if that was, Phil shook some loose. He was still hemming and hawing about it.

“Go ahead and cut the intel dump to them. Everything we've got. Send it to Triang in the next convoy as well as through the ansible. Basic through the ansible, the full dump through the convoy.”

“The next convoy is going to be a bit off since we 'borrowed it,'” Sprite reported.

“Damn it …”

“I believe you have used the pithy expression, robbing Peter to pay Paul more times than you'd wish to count. This is again one of those times I suppose,” Sprite said with a bit of mirth in her voice.

“Not funny,” Irons growled. “Figure it out. The next ship or convoy. Anyone headed there.”

“On it. Orders?”

“Don't go in. Beware of minefields or traps. They are to look before they leap. Don't try to capture the station either. Fingerprint any traffic in the area though.”

“Aye, sir. It does have me wondering something though.”

“Oh?”

“If they've got this pirate den in Pi, do they have them in other sectors? Most likely, the assumption though is based on limited data to support a definitive conclusion. But if so, where are the ones in the other sectors? And how many are there total? More than one in each sector possibly? Is there one here we need to know about?”

The admiral frowned thoughtfully. “All good questions,” he finally said slowly. “Something Monty and his spooks should be asking.”

“I'll remind them of it,” Sprite said primly.

“Good. Go ahead and nag them.”

“He's really going to love this,” Sprite snorted. “I thought of something else.”

“Oh?” the admiral asked with a slightly exaggerated sigh of patience near exhaustion. “Now what?”

“If we bundle the data and the intel team, we could ship them off to Triang in a courier. They might get there ahead of
Chic'ch'll
',” she stated.

The admiral frowned thoughtfully then shook his head. “No. First, Monty needs to sign off on it. It's his shop. Second, he might have something else going on. Third, it's a long term look.”

“And fourth, they'll need a ship to do it. And those two have other duties besides looking for that den,” Sprite finished for him.

“Thank you. Yes. They'd be stuck on the ship with little to do. They'll get enough going out to the sector.
If
they go.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Good.”

Chapter
28

Admiral Von Berk and Captain Bordou had the right to grin when their force managed to jump out of hyperspace from B448c in record time. They had arrived in a little more than a week's transit time, far shorter than the expected speed. He had made the cautionary choice of jumping outside the heliopause near the star system's Van Kuiper belt. It added nearly a week to their transit time across the solar system, but he had thought it was best to err on the side of caution just in case the enemy had defenses in the star system.

Probes of the star system had come back empty however. Active sensors continued to scan the system, looking warily for any hiding ships. He didn't want to be ambushed as he had that cruiser in ET. That would be a fine case of being hoisted on one's own petard, wouldn't it? He snorted at himself.

As the flotilla of ships formed up and crossed the star system, shuttles moved out from the tenders to resupply the other ships. The tanker under Captain Wutzle's expert guidance held her course as the ships took turns nuzzling up to her to refuel.

Lines were shot out to each ship when it came to nurse from the massive tanker. The lines were caught by a rigging crew on the hull, fished through runners and then the fuel lines were pulled over. The crew had a lot of experience on the job, though they hadn't had much experience doing it while underway. There was little room for mistakes. They managed to do the deed by the time they were halfway across the Centennial star system with little problem.

One lone fighter spiraled out around the group as they lumbered across the star system. Just one where there had once been thirty-two. It galled him to see the dread, but on the other hand, Commander Gibson's perseverance to soldier on was something to admire as well.

He did take note of the infrastructure in the star system though. Fresh satellites were in orbit; they hadn't been there when the fleet had passed through nearly a year ago. There were cargo pods as well, a couple platforms, and even a beacon orbiting the gas giant. Did the Federation invest everywhere? He was sorely tempted to blow it all up, but he didn't want to waste his ammunition.

CIC had reported fresh ion trails going between the B449b jump point, the planet, and the Gaston jump point. He wasn't certain how many were from his own Fourth Fleet. Not all, of that he was certain. But did the Federation really have that many ships? And if so, how many were warships? That question played on his mind a lot, it kept nagging at him, coming up every day.

Their intelligence people were still going over what they'd picked up on Epsilon Triangula. There was a mountain of data to sift through, not just the captured databases, but also the transcripts from the interrogations. Then there were the witness statements to pick apart. He'd already gotten a few complaints about some of the soldier's statements being alarmist and defeatist.

According to some of the reports the Federation had their own fleets, two of them. They were building new warships at a very fast pace. Thousands of people of all species were signing up with them as well.

The tactical departments on the ships had confirmed his worst fears. Not only were the homegrown missiles no match for the Federation missiles in speed, but they'd had several failures while the Feds hadn't had any. Their seekers had been poor, the warheads anemic compared to the Feds. His people were in the midst of an overhaul of their defensive strategy as well since they hadn't won any praise there either.

Their pen aides … just about every damn thing had sucked. That
Resolution
had better shields and armor and her reaction time to learn and adapt had been fiendishly quick. By all rights he should have easily destroyed that ship. Instead he was now wondering how he'd gotten off so lightly. It spoke volumes about their training and tech base. Were all of them like that? Implants? Tech? Ships? According to their intel's most pessimistic views, yes. That bode ill for the rest of Fourth Fleet.

It all added up to make him want to get the hell out of the area faster.

But with
El Dorado
and the precious cargo he had on board, they were about to level the playing field he thought with a wolfish grin. Give him a year or two and he'd be back and better than ever.

“If we can keep this pace up, we'll be in B452c in a week; after all, it's only 3.1 light years, slightly less than what we just jumped,” the admiral said, rubbing his hands together. “Once we jump out its 4.2 light years to Kathy's World, another week and a half.”

“It is working. I'm concerned about the cost in equipment, sir,” Captain Bordou cautioned. She made no mention of the failure of some of the water dwellers. “Our ships are built with a mix of civilian and military hardware,” she reminded him. “We're only as strong as our weakest link,” she said, eying him.

“We'll get it done. We have to. We have no choice,” the admiral growled.

“Sir, ma'am. CIC here,” a voice said.

“What is it,” the captain asked.

“We're getting an automated IFF on the outskirts of the star system. It's on an encrypted frequency.”

“One of ours?” the admiral asked.

“Yes, sir. She's
Rhianna
. According to the IFF, she's been abandoned though,” the comm rating stated with trepidation in his voice.

“Abandoned?” Captain Bordou asked, sitting up straight. “What the devil happened to her?”

“An engineering problem perhaps? Or fuel? Why would they just abandon her?” the admiral asked himself softly. He shook his head. “Anything else on the IFF?”

“No, sir. Just that. It repeats. I can narrow down her location …”

“No. Log the coordinates and then ignore it,” the admiral ordered. He saw the captain glance his way, and he waved off her concern. “We don't have the time to investigate.”

“Refueling is nearly complete. Should we do so again before jump, sir?” Captain Bordou asked. She hoped he'd say yes to buy her engineers and the engineers on the other ships more time to go over their equipment. She knew her own chief was sweating bullets about the next jump.

“No. We've got to ration it,” the admiral said in a distracted tone.

“I'm concerned about the issues with wear on components and fuel use, sir,” the captain murmured to him. The admiral eyed her and then motioned her to go to the wardroom. She nodded and followed him.

“Continue,” he said, sitting with his rear end to the edge of the table. He leaned back as if he was relaxing.

“Well, sir, according to Scotty, the faster speed means we are putting more wear on certain components. It means more risk of a short or burnout causing a ship to drop or crash translate, or worse, be lost with all hands,” she warned, crossing her arms. She wished she'd thought to bring the charts and numbers with her.

The admiral paused, seemingly taking in her concerns as he nodded thoughtfully.

“But no red flags,” he finally rumbled.

“Not yet, sir,” she stressed. “Nothing we can see without doing a full teardown, sir.”

“And they can't do that without throwing the calibration off,” the admiral said.

“No, sir. Calibrating it is a yard job. We can do something, but we'd lose the tune.”

“We can't have that. They are just going to have to do what they can and keep an eye on it,” the admiral said, turning away. “But what you say does remind me,” he said, picking up a tablet. He tapped at it. “I'm passing an order to all ships. Those that cannot keep up will be scuttled.”

“But, sir! The contents … the crew!”

“If we don't have room for them, they will be sacrificed for the mission.”

“But the mission is to get them back!” she urged.

He grunted. “I'm aware of that. But better that some of us get back than none at all, Captain,” he growled. She grimaced but didn't fight that point. “Pass the order on,” he said softly, handing her the tablet.

She took it slowly then nodded. “Aye aye, Admiral,” she murmured as she left the compartment.

---<>))))

Admiral Frost scowled as he looked over the numbers one more time. Every time he looked at it, the numbers just bothered him more and more. Post and Mueller would suck him dry on this fool's errand if he wasn't careful.

Well, he wasn't going to have it. Not on his watch. He had to defend Nuevo Madrid and the emperor's interests there. He wasn't going to throw good money after bad.

Not after they had done it once already. He knew they had enough rope to hang themselves. He'd expected a courier to arrive at anytime with non-discretionary orders to get them scrambling back home with their tails between their legs and leaving him high and dry. So far, it hadn't happened.

Again he wondered why he'd agreed to their scheme. He shook his head as he went over the proposed numbers. He already knew the answer, but he had to frame it in terms they'd understand but that wouldn't come back and bite him in the ass in the future.

To his surprise they'd made good work on their repairs. He was well aware that there was a bit of creative reports in there. Their engineers were covering up damage with band-aids, but that was on them if it all blew up in their face like he was expecting it too.

Post's argument about pushing the Federation further off balance and fighting as far away from his own AO made sense. But he wasn't ready to gamble the ships. Not when he had nothing bigger to back them up or replace them. But Dutch and Post had argued strenuously albeit independently that he had to do something or it would look bad back home. He was a bit nettled about that threat but well aware of it.

The other ship captains had been behind the “reconnaissance raid in force,” even going so far as to offer the services of some of their people and equipment to help get the ships in order. It was a show of solidarity he'd been surprised by. He'd kept his foot down though; the other ships would remain behind to guard Nuevo Madrid.

He had another five hours before they had to get underway. Then they'd be out of his hair and he could worry about what they were up to as much or as little as he liked. He planned on doing his best to put them out of his mind for the duration of their absence but knew it wouldn't happen. At least, not as well as he hoped.

They'd even scrounged up a ten-ship squadron of
Raptor
class fighters by pulling down the fighter compliments from each of the destroyers. The squadron was split between the two ships. He'd reluctantly anted in with another pair to bring the squadron up to full strength. Not that it would do them much good.

He'd seen the numbers. The Fed fighters were modern nightmares that would blow through the
Raptor's
light tissue paper.

“So, you are almost ready to go? Is that what I'm reading between the lines here, Captain?” the admiral finally asked, looking over the tablet to his guest.

Captain Mueller nodded. She'd drawn the short straw to visit the admiral and hand deliver their SITREP. Her shuttle was supposed to pick up some volunteers from the transports and the ground and deliver them on the way back. She knew Chief Theiler and acting chief of the boat Oscar Byrd were going to have their work cut out for them slotting them in and whipping them into shape.

They'll use real whips if they have to, she thought with a small corner of her mind. Whatever worked to get the job done.

“We have one small problem, sir, the missiles. We've managed to get into the armories and recover some there. We've scavenged some, scrounged others, but we're still short. We need more counter missiles and offensive missiles, sir. More decoys would also be nice if you can swing it.”

The admiral scowled. “We don't have capital ship missiles here obviously. We also have a finite supply. You are not going to drain me dry,” the admiral growled. “You sail with what you've got. You don't need anymore,” he growled, handing the tablet back to her.

“Yes, sir. I mean no, sir,” Captain Mueller replied taking the tablet. She'd expected resistance but hoped he'd be reasonable. So much for that she thought darkly.

“Figure it out, Captain. You're only supposed to be doing a recon anyway. Don't piss me off. You can tell Post that for me too. If I find out he went back for revenge and did something stupid, I'll have his balls,” the admiral hissed, small eyes locked with hers. “You look, you bark loud, but you do. Not. Engage.” he growled. “Are we clear?”

She nodded once, feeling that strength behind the fat man's eyes. Apparently there was more to the man than she'd assumed. That was stupid of her to underestimate him. She made a mental note to warn Arnold about that. There was only so far they could push the man.

He was their boss after all. Even if he wasn't in their direct chain of command.

“Is there anything else,
Captain
?” the admiral asked, staring her down and daring her to go further.

“No, sir,” she said in a polite tone of voice. “Thank you for explaining the situation to me, sir,” she added, forcing herself to get that last bit out without gagging or chocking over the words.

“Dismissed then, Captain.”

Captain Mueller made one small concession to her temper once she was outside of the insufferable prig's office. She clenched her hands once but was well aware of the eyes around her in the staff room. She lifted her nose to the air and walked out past a familiar face.