Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (50 page)

Dutch saw her go, opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. There would be other times he thought. Maybe when they got back …
if
they got back.

---<>))))

“So, I'm guessing since I haven't seen any movement from the magazines that it didn't go well?” Captain Post asked as the female captain entered the compartment and shucked her jacket with disdain.

Captain Mueller snorted. “Yeah, you could say that. What we've got is it,” she said as she headed directly to the bar to get a much needed drink.

“Ten missiles each? And twenty counter missiles each? Is he serious? That won't even be a single broadside! And they are destroyer missiles! Damn the man, I know he's got more!”

“Ten? We were supposed to get
eight
,” Mueller frowned thoughtfully.

“Eight? So … where did the extra missiles come from I wonder?” Captain Post asked, rubbing his chin. It was his turn to be thoughtful.

“Either someone screwed up …”

“Well, I'm not going to tell him if you won't!” Captain Post said. “You didn't tell them, right?” She shook her head. “Good.”

“Commander Lefou,” Mueller said with a sudden intense expression. “He might be behind it.”

“Lefou? The short stinky man on the admiral's staff? Why?”

“I think … I think he's an admirer. Or he wants to give us enough rope to hang ourselves with,” the female captain said as she dropped a couple cubes of ice into her glass with the tongs. She picked up the gin and frowned at the label.

“I think …,” Post frowned and took out a tablet. He tapped at it for a moment then nodded. “I've got his personnel records here. He wasn't assigned to the admiral at all.”

“Oh?” Captain Mueller asked as she poured her glass.

“He was assigned to Fourth Fleet, XO of a tin can. Lost it in Protodon, but he got himself and his injured skipper out,” Captain Post said as he sat back, laying an arm across the back of his leather couch. The leather was exquisitely soft, made from tanned Neodog leather.

“Apparently the admiral snagged him but sent his skipper packing.”

“The one we met. Earl Gumel,” Mueller said with a nod. “I remember now.” She wrinkled her nose as she swirled her glass and then took a sip.

“So, he might be helping us. I bet he'll try to approach one of us. Hint about it. Maybe ask for a favor.”

“Sooner or later?”

“I'm not sure. It depends on his level of patience. Since he survived under Gumel and has survived this long under Frost, I'd say he'll hold his tongue until he can cash his chip in.”

“Well, if he tries it we can just point out that he did it on his own initiative. We can even use it to threaten him,” Mueller suggested, tracing her fingertip over the music volume knob to turn it up slightly. The room seemed to swell with the sounds of Morgana's Fourth Symphony.

“Not now,” Arnold replied as Mueller took a seat next to him. She kicked off her shoes and propped them up on the coffee table in front of them. She wriggled her toes sensuously. “I don't want to turn him against us. As much as I'd like to get more missiles, having a friend in the local court may be more important in the long run.”

“Agreed,” Captain Mueller sighed as she turned the problem into a long term strategic one. She didn't like the idea of being stuck in Nuevo Madrid with so little support. But they were stuck, at least until they were recalled back to the empire for repair and refit.

Something told her she nor Arnold were going to enjoy the experience. The brass was going to have their ass at a bare minimum.

“Come to think of it, he might be why we got to trade a couple of our cutters for that last pair of fighters and the extra munitions and parts for them. Not that they'll do much. Now that we know what we're up against, another pair of Raptors aren't going to amount to a jack shit against the enemy fighters.”

“Not unless we play them carefully,” Mueller mused, turning the fresh problem around in her head.

“I think we really will be stuck on recon. But if the opportunity presents itself …,” Arnold let the thought taper off.

“I'm not going to envy anyone in Fourth Fleet who show up in Protodon expecting it to be held by our own people,” Mueller mused. “Think there are many left?” She swirled her drink again and then handed it to him.

“If I know Von Berk, he's out there,” Arnold replied. He took a sip and then downed it as he sat forward. “He's good. I've served under him. Hopefully he can get out of whatever crack he's in. I want us to be there to help him the rest of the way if he needs it.”

“Yes, sir,” Mueller replied as she watched him rise to his feet. “I best be going then. We are moving out in two hours after all.”

“Indeed. Smooth sailing for the both of us and best speed to Protodon.”

“Yes, sir.”

---<>))))

Princess Catherine's eyes narrowed as she rolled her shoulders. Admiral De Gaulte was riding the staff hard on two fronts. The first was intelligence; he had them going over every byte they had in the mainframe for information on the enemy and their capabilities—ship classes, movements, all of it. Anything they could dredge up on their captains, their tech … training, all of it.

That was hard enough. But he had another project ongoing, where he plugged all that data into the computers and ran merciless drills and virtual exercises. These were not the political feel good; you already know the outcome drills that some senior officers had staged over the centuries in Home Fleet. De Gaulte had never been known for such things, which was one of the reasons Catherine had hitched herself to his star. He wasn't a talker; he was a doer. He dug in and got things done. He wasn't quite politically tone deaf, but he didn't play the political game unless he had to. Sometimes that cost him brownie points with superiors she knew, but his blunt straight shooter reputation made even his most grudging political opponents in the ruling families respect him.

“Come on, people. I need better,” the admiral growled. “That was sloppy. When the enemy gets a big enough force in front of us, I don't want to get tore up. It's our job to crush them and I expect results,” he growled.

Catherine nodded. She'd already taken notes during the latest exercise. She checked the status board. It would be another two weeks before they exited hyperspace in Garth. Once they did she already had exercises programmed for the fleet to perform while they picked up some additional forces and the engineers scrambled to run what maintenance they could get away with while in real space.

“We can count on one
Resolution
, this
Firefly
,
Bounty
, some of Admiral Cartwright's forces, and a good chunk of Admiral Byrd's, plus
Queen Adrienne
according to our most recent intel reports,” he said, waving a tablet. “That's at a minimum that we know of,” he growled. “These are not civilians that the Gather Fleet has been easily raping for the past seven centuries. I suppose this is our comeuppance for that,” he grimaced. “Get over the resentment; we don't have time for the bullshit. I know you don't like having the enemy ships running at full strength. Tough. They have full access to Federation resources including replicators. It is therefore quite probable that both ships are fully up to standard. We will
not
underestimate them. Stop doing that. These are opponents you will not screw up with like you have been in the simulators. If you do they will blow you away.”

“If I don't do it first. So get it right,” the admiral growled, leaning forward over the table. He locked eyes with each of the officers until he drew a nod from each of them.

“Good then. According to our last report we still control Nuevo Madrid. But I think the next scenario we will run will be in B95a3. We'll see how we do in an empty star system. We can't count on the enemy having a hostage population in system we can threaten to get them to do our bidding.” He looked over to Catherine. “Commander, you've set the random generator?”

She nodded back as she glanced at the tablet in her lap. “Yes, sir. We've set it up to run the ships we know of.”

“Reset the profiles to their maximum effectiveness. I want us to train against someone harder, possibly better than us. That way we'll be ready for any nasty surprises.”

“Yes, sir. And the cyber element?”

“You've taken what Post came up with and refined it?” the admiral asked. She nodded. “Good. Keep on that. We need to keep working that shifting encryption method, as well as the shifting frequencies. But we need to rely on whisker lasers for com and telemetry as much as possible.”

“Yes, sir. Sir, I could add a few wrinkles there,” she offered.

He nodded. “Good. Do that. Don't tell me or the rest of the staff. I want it to come as a surprise,” he warned. She blinked and then nodded. “And make sure it is also randomized so you don't know what is coming either, Commander.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, making a note.

“Moving on then …”

---<>))))

Theodore Cruise Rico, duke of Hinata, nodded to Praetor Admiral Cartwright and the prime minister, Duke Franklin Lloyd Tucket, duke of Garth. Both men seemed quiet as they walked into the restaurant. Their security detail and aids peeled off in the outer foyer, shaking off wet coats and umbrellas with the staff. He could tell Frank was in a sour mood just from the set expression and the way the man walked. At sixty-seven years old, you'd think the man would have learned not to stomp like a 2-year-old when he was pissed. Apparently not, the former admiral thought wryly. Most likely Melwin had finally clued him in to some of the discretionary clauses in Linnaeus's orders.

Well, that was too bad he thought, swirling his wine gently as the two men approached his private table. Now that the Retribution Fleet had sailed there was nothing Franklin could do to stop it. But he knew it wasn't going to end there. Oh no. Most likely he'd end up having to scrape the bottom of the barrel to come up with the replacement forces Linnaeus was going to peel away from Garth and Dead Drop on his march. There might even be some horse trading involved in the end to make things right with the prime minister. So be it.

The restaurant was old, a brick building in the center of the capital, within easy walking distance of all the major buildings and their players. It was a favorite place for many to meet privately, either to have a quiet talk or to meet a lover.

It also had top notch security and privacy screening. The employees were well known for their rigid adherence to the privacy of their patrons. They knew that bad things would happen to them or their families if they spoke out of turn so they didn't.

Which was why the former admiral's family had quietly set the restaurant up so many centuries ago. It had been a questionable investment but one that had proven worthy many times over the centuries. He looked over as his ear caught the sound of a pine log crackling in the fire, then back to the two men as they got within a meter of his table behind the waiter.

“Gentlemen,” he said, rising and smoothing the front of his tunic and dinner jacket. “Good evening to you both,” he said smoothly.

“Save it. You knew about this?” Frank demanded, yanking his chair out and seating himself heavily. He looked up to the waiter and scowled the man out of ear shot. The young man scurried as if his life depended on it, which it very well might have.

“Knew as in …” the Minister of War prodded, playing for time.

“Don't play dumb with me. Melwin just let drop that little bit in the Retribution Fleet's orders. The one about stripping the defenses of Garth and Dead Drop on his way to hammer Protodon and this new Federation,” Frank growled as Melwin sat down.

“Did he?” the minister asked, taking up his wine glass and looking over it with a cool glare at the other admiral. The other man didn't meet his eyes. “Rather sloppy of him. Loose lips and all that,” he growled. Melwin flushed slightly and worked his jaw.

Their two families had been at odds for the past century. There were a dozen prominent military families in the ruling families but seven stood out above their rest. The Rico, De Gaulte, Von Berk, Post, Byrd, Frost, and Cartwright blood lines were the most powerful, the cream of the crop. They didn't let others forget it and weren't above sabotaging the other families for power.

The Rico and Cartwright families had been jockeying for power and prestige for the past three decades, each vying for the top slot in the government while also setting themselves up for the inside tract with the empire once it was launched. When
El Dorado
had come into play, it had been a game changer. It had been a heady exhilarating experience as they launched the empire like a ship setting sail. More than one person in the families had quietly disappeared. Black sheep had been tucked away, some in remote postings, others had been killed by their own families to keep them out of sight. A few assassinations had also taken place. It hadn't been pretty, but they'd all been careful to limit such things since none had wanted to undermine their positions totally. A sort of unwritten rule in the families forbade open violence and open war, and they'd stuck with it.

Melwin's family had been set to win the war minister post but then news of the disaster in Antigua had come in. That had allowed the Rico family to spin the situation to put their own man in the top slot, with Melwin taking the lesser role as praetor and chief of the navy.