Admiral's War Part One Read online

  Admiral’s War -Part I - A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 9

  by

  Luke Sky Wachter

  Copyright © 2015 by Joshua Wachter

  All rights reserved.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. Respect my electronic rights because the money you save today will be the book I can't afford to write for you tomorrow.

  Thanks to all the other beta readers—you know who you are—for all your contributions. This book wouldn’t be what it is without you, and I really do mean that.

  Enjoy!

  Other Books by Joshua Wachter, aka Luke Sky Wachter

  As of 12-30-2015

  SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVEL SERIES

  Admiral Who?

  Admiral’s Gambit

  Admiral’s Tribulation

  Admiral’s Trial

  Admiral’s Revenge

  Admiral’s Spine

  Admiral Invincible

  Admiral's Challenge

  Admiral’s War

  RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVEL SERIES

  The Blooding

  The Painting

  RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVELLAS

  The Boar Knife

  Books by my brother, Caleb Wachter

  SPINEWARD SECTORS: MIDDLETON’S PRIDE

  No Middle Ground

  Up The Middle

  Against The Middle

  McKnight’s Mission (A House Divided)

  SPHEREWORLD NOVEL SERIES

  Joined at the Hilt: Union

  SPHEREWORLD NOVELLAS

  Between White and Grey

  SPINEWARD SECTORS: A TRACTO TALE

  The Forge of Men

  SEEDS OF HUMANITY: THE COBALT HERESY SERIES

  Revelation

  Reunion

  IMPERIUM CICERNUS SERIES

  Ure Infectus

  Sic Semper Tyrannis

  COLLABORATIVE WORKS BY LUKE SKY WACHTER & CALEB WACHTER

  SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVELLAS

  Admiral’s Lady: Eyes of Ice, Heart of Fire

  Admiral’s Lady: Ashes for Ashes, Blood for Blood

  Join www.PacificCrestPublishing.com for future beta reading opportunities!

  Be sure to stop by the blog at blog.PacificCrestPublishing.com for updates.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: Compromise—Akantha Style

  MSP Fleet Breakdown Report

  Chapter One: Peace at any Price

  Chapter Two: An Urgent Communique

  Chapter Three: Smoothing out the rough edges

  Chapter Four: The Tau Ceti Counter Strike

  Chapter Five: Medically-induced Frustration

  Chapter Six: The Armsmen

  Chapter Seven: Changing of the Guard

  Chapter Eight: Task Force Charlie

  Chapter Nine: Lying in Ambush

  Chapter Ten: Wessex in Command

  Chapter Eleven: The Furball

  Chapter Twelve: Fire from the Gun Decks

  Chapter Thirteen: Raining and Pouring

  Chapter Fourteen: Fat and Happy

  Chapter Fifteen: A Smashing Success

  Chapter Sixteen: Resonating on the Gundeck

  Chapter Seventeen: Wessex on the Edge

  Chapter Eighteen: Hot Pursuit

  Chapter Nineteen: Droid Assault Landers

  Chapter Twenty: Terror on the Battle Bridge

  Chapter Twenty-One: Back on the Rage

  Chapter Twenty-two: Making the Great Escape

  Chapter Twenty-three: Jubilation on the Bridge

  Chapter Twenty-four: Foreign Reinforcements

  Chapter Twenty-five: Tallying the Cost

  Chapter Twenty-six: Imperial Survivors

  Chapter Twenty-seven: Rapid Repairs

  Chapter Twenty-eight: Arriving in Easy Haven

  Chapter Twenty-nine: General Conference for the Grand Fleet

  Chapter Thirty: Word of the Governor and the Grand Fleet

  Chapter Thirty-one: Shaking things up

  Chapter Thirty-two: The Pre-Meeting Report

  Chapter Thirty-three: Damage Control and Repair

  Chapter Thirty-four: Outside Pressures

  Chapter Thirty-five: Spalding and Shepherd

  Chapter Thirty-six: Repercussions

  Chapter Thirty-seven: Akantha Enraged; Jason Unmoved

  Chapter Thirty-eight: Opening Maneuvers and Rushing to the Fray

  Chapter Thirty-nine: Sucking Them In

  Chapter Forty: Mouse Trapped

  Chapter Forty-one: All According to Plan

  Chapter Forty-two: Ambushed on all sides

  Chapter Forty-three: Returning Fire

  Chapter Forty-four: Imperial Frustration

  Chapter Forty-five: Under Duress

  Chapter Forty-six: Imperial Frustration

  Chapter Forty-seven: Fusion Trouble

  Chapter Forty-eight: Commodore Kling

  Chapter Forty-nine: Silverbacking it?

  Chapter Fifty: High Admiral Observes

  Chapter Fifty-one: Shorthanded, and facing Budget Cuts

  Chapter Fifty-two: A Wild Gamble

  Chapter Fifty-three: Imperial Frustration

  Chapter Fifty-four: Hitting Hard

  Chapter Fifty-five: The Chase is on

  Chapter Fifty-six: The Coming Storm

  Chapter Fifty-seven: Suppressed but not Oppressed

  Chapter Fifty-eight: Pushing out

  Chapter Fifty-nine: Shifting Fortunes

  Chapter Sixty: A Stern Chase

  Chapter Sixty-one: A Consultation on the Sly

  Chapter Sixty-two: Breaking Out

  Chapter Sixty-three: Speed and Determination

  Chapter Sixty-four: On the Run

  Chapter Sixty-five: Final Run

  Chapter Sixty-six: New Recruits – The Bad Apple

  Chapter Sixty-seven: The Damage is Done

  Chapter Sixty-eight: Send in the Torpedoes

  Chapter Sixty-nine: The Tide Turns Against

  Chapter Seventy: Launch Fighters

  Chapter Seventy-one: The Shield Breakers

  Chapter Seventy-two: Reclamation Efforts

  Chapter Seventy-three: More Trouble

  Chapter Seventy-four: Running the Numbers

  Chapter Seventy-five: Desperate Times

  Chapter Seventy-six: Imperial Trigger Call

  Chapter Seventy-seven: In the Middle of the Mix

  Chapter Seventy-eight: Finishing Touches

  Chapter Seventy-nine: Fully Stopped

  Chapter Eighty: Going Out with a Bang

  Chapter Eighty-one: In Retreat

  Chapter Eighty-two: In Retreat II

  Epilogue: Breaking Out

  Prologue: Compromise—Akantha Style

  A crowd of two hundred Hold Mistresses, their Protectors or Guardians, and other dignitaries of the planet Tracto stood at the foot of the imposing mountain range which marked the northernmost boundary of inhabitable land on their main continent. The biting cold, swirling snow, and open mistrust between the various of the planet’s nation states made for a truly frigid environment as they surveyed the landscape.

  Before them was a valley leading up into the mountains, with steep walls of razor-sharp rocks marking the outer boundaries of both the valley and the mountain range which held it. There were nearly a hundred fires burning along the sides of the valley, with each sending a plume of jet-black smoke into the frosty air. Those fires marked where guard towers and other defensive positions had been, but in a remarkable display they had been destroyed just minutes earlier by a pair of Starborn gunships.

  That display, and the plumes of smoke rising into the biting cold, were but a prelude to the tr
ue reason for which each member of the assemblage had been summoned—a summoning which had been made by Lady Adonia Akantha Zosime: First Daughter of Argos, Hold Mistress of Messene and Sword Bearer to the Starborn Protector, Jason Montagne.

  Akantha’s icy blue eyes surveyed the assemblage, like those of a hawk surveying a field for particularly foolish mice that dared to challenge the will of the heavens—in this case, a will made manifest in the person of Messene’s Hold Mistress.

  Beyond the assembled Hold Mistresses and other dignitaries were the nearly three thousand former occupants of the valley. Akantha had brought only a handful of armored Lancers to serve as security detail; she knew that the last remnants of the Ice Raider fortress on the far end of the valley had been properly conquered, and they were unlikely to openly rebel against her—at least, not yet.

  “Hold Mistresses,” she raised her voice, piercing the air with the commanding authority afforded her position as pre-eminent Hold Mistress of her world, “what you have seen thus far is but a tiny fraction of the power of the Starborn weapons. Now you will stand witness to the true might and fury of their mightiest war machines.”

  For such a demonstration to be effective—meaning, for it to stir not only envy but also evoke abject fear among those who would challenge the new order of Tracto—Akantha had required a suitable target. But, as a gesture of deference to her Protector’s peculiar sensibilities, she had decided that such a target needed to not only serve as a powerful symbol, but that it also needed to be unoccupied during the demonstration.

  And she had found the perfect place to demonstrate her authority: Blue Fang Pass. The mountain fortress, formerly commanded by Kratos and later held by his daughter, the Hold Mistress Valeria, was like a tumor in the body of her world—and Akantha wanted little more than to remove it as quickly and completely as possible.

  The Ice Raider, Kratos, had once stood beside her as they had battled the ‘Sky Demons’ and their ‘god.’ He had fought with admittedly impressive savagery, standing fearlessly in the face of the monstrous creature which they had both thought to be a demon god come to consume their world. But she now knew it had merely been a glorified biomass sampler and processor which the ‘Sky Demons’—better known to the Starborn as ‘Bugs’—had brought to help survey her planet’s flora and fauna in preparation for a long-planned invasion.

  But Kratos’ assistance during that battle had done nothing to erase the fact that his people were raiders whose rejection of Men’s will had constituted nothing less than outright heresy. They preyed upon the rightful Hold Mistresses of Tracto, whose people suffered and died after the Ice Raiders stole the fruits of their hard work. The winters this far north were unforgiving, and the larders of Blue Fang Pass had been well-stocked when Akantha’s people—using Starborn power armor—had easily conquered it several days earlier.

  Valeria herself stood among the Hold Mistresses. She stood at the head of them, in fact, and at a far enough remove for the rest of the assemblage to see her clearly—and to show that she was not considered their peer.

  Akantha reached down to her com-link and tapped out a series of commands. She quickly received a request for confirmation from the warships in low orbit directly over their heads, and she confirmed her request by tapping out another series of inputs. A countdown timer appeared on her link, showing fifteen seconds remaining until her demonstration would take place, and she savored the look of impotent fury in Valeria’s eyes before turning to face the formidable fortress.

  It was, if she was being honest, a marvel of engineering. Built of dry-fitted, blue stone blocks which had been quarried from the valley itself, Blue Fang Pass spanned several hundred meters from one side of the valley to the other. It had a dozen strong, tall guard towers offering overlapping fields of fire on the few passable approaches which led to the fortress’s main gates. Its walls were tall and thick, and its arsenal of siege weapons had deterred any serious attempt at breaching the fortress until Akantha had sent in two dozen Lancers in power armor to neutralize the occupants with non-lethal gas.

  There was an endless supply of melt water running through the fortress during all but the peak months of winter, and that water cascaded down the front of the fortress between two long, beautiful buttresses made of the same blue stone as the rest of the fortress. The pair of long buttresses, which tapered from the base of the fortress down to the valley floor, were what had given the fortress its name. Indeed, looking upon it from her present vantage point gave the distinctly serpentine impression. Such an impression would no doubt cause even the bravest warriors to acknowledge the impressive sight as they trudged up the valley in an attempt to besiege the place.

  In short, it was the perfect fortress: it was functionally unassailable using classical siege techniques; it required little or no maintenance; and it had an endless supply of fresh water for sanitation. With enough provisions, the Ice Raiders could hold out indefinitely against attack.

  For a fraction of a second, Akantha wished she could preserve the fortress. It was a remarkable structure, the likes of which her people would likely never reproduce now that they had access to the much faster building techniques of the Starborn. In a way, the fortress represented a piece of her people’s heritage which would now become little more than a memory.

  But she dismissed those thoughts from her mind as the countdown reached five seconds. In their place were visions of bringing peace and order to her war-torn world, and she knew that in order for that to happen certain sacrifices needed to be made.

  What better sacrifice than a den of iniquity, rebellion, and heresy against every ideal we hold dear? she thought silently as she drew a breath in preparation for the demonstration.

  She pointed triumphantly at the doomed fortress as the moment approached. “Thus for all heretics!” she declared in a ringing voice, and an instant later the sky was pierced by a series of strobing, stabbing lights which seemed to connect heaven and earth more completely than even the most violent thunderbolt could hope to do.

  The lights stabbed down in rapid succession as the warships in low orbit bombarded Blue Fang Pass, and the booming impacts sounded not long after the first impacts had blasted the stone walls into dust. Hit after hit landed against the fortress as the expert gunners of the MSP warships dismantled the bastion of heresy far more efficiently, completely, and precisely than an army of laborers could have done in a year of uninterrupted work.

  Akantha knew that the fortress could be ruined with a single strike, but she had intentionally called for a dozen precise impacts after consulting with the finest engineers and determining the best way to achieve all of her goals for this particular demonstration.

  After the twelfth strike landed, the stream of fire ceased and Akantha turned to survey the assembled dignitaries. The expressions on the faces of the Hold Mistresses were those of muted envy, while their Protectors appeared grim with the barest hints of disapproval flavoring their features—disapproval that the fortress had been emptied prior to the bombardment. Akantha knew their disapproval only too well, for she shared no small part of it. And while she savored the envy of her peers, she also knew that it was not truly her power which had just been demonstrated.

  The valley was filled with a cloud of dust, and the echoing sounds of settling rubble persisted for nearly two minutes until finally abating. Akantha had been informed that it would take several minutes before the haze would lift, so she raised her hand imperiously and gestured for the fortress’s former Hold Mistress, Valeria, to approach. This next thing she did not for herself, but for Jason Montagne, her Protector. Three thousand public executions of the unrepentant heretics of Blue Fang Pass would have provided a more traditional display of authority—one which, in spite of its macabre nature, Akantha would have greatly preferred to her chosen course.

  Her Protector, however, had made no attempt to hide his disdain for such practices. Coupled with his own personal family experience of having their Royal Palace bombarded from orbit
in a fashion similar to that which she had just enacted on Blue Fang Pass, Akantha had grudgingly decided that a rare display of mercy might serve as a salve for their recently-frayed relationship—or, if not a salve, at least a peace offering of sorts.

  “Valeria,” Akantha declared, looking down at the Hold Mistress—who, like every other member of the assemblage, likely thought that her execution was at hand—as she approached. “You have been found guilty, by a council of duly-appointed Hold Mistresses, of fomenting rebellion against our society, of perpetuating heresies against the Will of Men, and of committing unsanctioned acts of aggression against your neighbors. Do you wish to speak before judgment is passed?” she asked, and as she spoke the bloodthirst of the crowd became a nearly tangible thing which caused her heartbeats to quicken.

  A handful of years younger than Akantha, Valeria’s frame was similar to Akantha’s—though the northerner stood a full hand shorter. She had serpentine eyes which met Akantha’s steadily as the younger woman spoke. “I do not recognize the legitimacy of your council,” she said defiantly, “nor do I confess to perpetuating heresies against Men.”

  “A confession is not required,” Akantha said, fighting the urge to grit her teeth in anger at the girl’s defiance, “you have been found guilty by a council of your…peers.”

  There was a rush of whispered disapproval at Akantha’s choice of that last word. A more traditional choice would have been ‘betters,’ but Akantha was committed to ‘mending fences,’ as Jason would say, with her Protector. Things between Jason and Akantha had become difficult following the nearly-disastrous Nikomedes challenge, which had ended with the Tracto-an warlord’s death—and Jason’s near-universal elevation in the eyes of her people, a factor which her Protector seemed entirely too eager to ignore as far as she was concerned.