First Admiral 01 First Admiral Read online

  Admiral Bettayam was sending a very stern and unambiguous message to the Pritern Government; surrender, or else. Argun Bettayam had watched impassively in the War Room as the Pritern had witnessed the calculated cold-blooded annihilation of their fighters.

  He had his orders, and he would do whatever it took to achieve his objective with no unnecessary loss of Alliance lives. The mission was more important than the glory, the prestige and his vanity. Within minutes of the last of the Pritern fighter craft disintegrating in a cloud of flame and debris, the Communications Officer reported that the Pritern High Command had ordered a state of emergency on Priteria.

  “Incoming fire from the planet’s surface, sir; one hundred and twelve sources!” a young nervous Scanner technician called out.

  Ground Defence Cannons, Bettayam thought, as the huge orange and red fire bolts slammed into the yellow line of the battle shielding surrounding the image of the Alliance vessels. Many of the ships that had taken direct hits on their shielding, had been shaken by the impact.

  “Engineers, any damage?” Bettayam asked.

  “Not even a scratch, sir,” came the almost nonchalant response.

  “WATO, please order Calypso, Aurora, and Thunderchild to destroy those ground defences,” Bettayam ordered.

  “Sir,” the senior WATO replied.

  Using their high-yield pulsar-cannons, the three designated Alliance Star-Cruisers fired a series of bursts from each of their five, domed, twin-cannon turrets. Like angry wasps the bolts had disappeared down through the clouds to the surface of the planet. Down on the surface of Priteria, the one hundred and twelve ground batteries had been struck by the white-hot pulsar-bolts. Like the lightning bolts cast by an angry and vengeful ancient God from the heavens, the pulsar-bolts had unerringly found their targets. The stricken ground batteries had immediately super-heated and began to melt. In the pulsar-bolts’ white heat, the huge cylindrical plasma-cannons vaporised along with their screaming and agonised crews. With the ground batteries destroyed the Pritern capital city was now defenceless.

  “Incoming signal from Priteria,” the Senior Communications Officer announced, “It’s the Vice President, sir.”

  “On the War Table please, Comms,” Bettayam ordered.

  A moment later the image of the Pritern Vice-President appeared again. This time there was no harshness or defiance in her manner.

  “You have us at a disadvantage Admiral,” the head and shoulder image said quietly and grimly, “the Pritern government wishes to settle for terms.”

  “Madam Vice President, there are no terms on offer…..there is unconditional surrender or in exactly two minutes we start laying waste to your defenceless cities,” Bettayam replied calmly.

  “Admiral, this is barbaric…..” the Vice-President began to protest, when Bettayam made the cut throat gesture to the Senior Communications Officer once more to terminate the discussion.

  The image of the Vice President vanished almost instantly.

  “WATO, order Thunderchild to target the Pritern Republic’s Assembly Building with a low-yield pulsar-bolt,” Bettayam ordered.

  “Sir,” the Senior WATO replied.

  “And, start targeting the strategic points in their capital city,” Bettayam added.

  Like the Angel of Death, the small, yellow, low-yield bolt of energy sped away from one of the rear Self Defence Turrets on the Star Cruiser Thunderchild, and disappeared into the clouded atmosphere of the planet. It struck precisely on the top corner of the rectangular Pritern Republic Assembly Building, killing dozens and injuring hundreds of Pritern politicians and administrators. To the survivors it sounded like a great bolt of lightning had stuck the building and shook it to its foundations. It was just one single low-yield pulsar-bolt, yet it had sounded the death-knell of the thousand year old independent Pritern Republic. The Pritern government had no option but to surrender.

  “Pritern Vice-President again, sir,” the senior Communications Officer announced.

  “Yes, Madam Vice President?” Bettayam said calmly to the image on the War Table.

  “Stop this Admiral, please,” the figure pleaded emotionally, “to prevent further loss of lives, the Pritern government surrenders unconditionally.”

  When the capitulation message had been received in the War Room, the entire Alliance flotilla, had erupted in wild cheering and celebration.

  “Silence! I will have dignity and respect in this War Room!” Argun Bettayam angrily barked the War Room to order.

  The effect was instantaneous. Sometimes a reputation for bullying and cruelty could be useful, he considered.

  “Madam Vice-President, a very wise decision,” Bettayam responded, “my staff will make arrangements with the Diplomatic and Political Offices for Priteria’s induction into the Alliance.”

  The image of the crestfallen Vice-President vanished as the Pritern cut off the transmission.

  “De-activate the War Table, please,” Bettayam ordered, and immediately the War Room was bathed in a sharp blinding light which hurt his eyes for a moment.

  All the shapes and shadows from the darkness came into the sharp focus and form of the War Room.

  “Flight,” he called the Senior Flight Officer, who was in charge of all fighter activities “I want reconnaissance patrols over the capital city in ten minutes.”

  “Sir,” came the crisp, clipped reply.

  “Comms,” he turned to the Senior Communications Officer, “make signal to Aquarius, ‘Phase One successful’.”

  “WATO, we have a new territory to occupy down there, let’s get some of our people on the ground shall we?” Argun ordered the Senior Weapons and Tactical Officer to begin the operation to put Landing Troopers and Fleet Infantry onto the surface of Priteria.

  The oldest adage of warfare still applied even in these days of space craft, instantaneous travel and impregnable battle shielding. If you want to capture and hold territory, you have to put boots on the ground to physically occupy it.

  “Yes, sir,” the Senior WATO replied, “beginning Phase Two.”

  “Excellent. Please convey my thanks and appreciation to the flotilla, and I would like hourly reports of the progress of Phase Two, if you please,” Bettayam ordered.

  With the Pritern government subdued, Argun Bettayam felt the stress of the battle lift from him like a great weight from his shoulders. With that relief, he felt a great tiredness, and began to walk away from the War Table.

  “Attention! Admiral on deck!” the Senior Staff Officer called the room to attention.

  To a chorus of staccato heel clicks, all those present instantly stiffened formally into the attention position.

  Argun Bettayam responded, body ramrod straight, with a precise left-handed salute straight from the Landing Trooper Brigades Manual; straight fingers at forty-five degrees to the head, at the side of the left eyebrow.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” Bettayam responded recovering his salute, “the First Admiral and Fleet HQ shall be informed of your exemplary conduct.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the Senior Staff Officer responded from the attention position.

  “Carry on with your duties,” Argun Bettayam ordered and turned to walk towards the door to his War Office as he called it.

  The War Office was a small room where he could escape the harsh glare of the War Room and conduct whatever business was required away from the sight of the War Room Staff. Argun was relieved to have carried out the first part of the mission successfully. He had won. He had shown that he was the best, and it felt good. Gone were the days where he would feel that no matter what he achieved, or did, it was never quite good enough.

  “Sir, message from First Admiral,” the Senior Communications Officer, interrupted his thoughts.

  “Read it, Comms,” Bettayam responded nonchalantly his good humour almost indestructible.

  “Message reads ‘Attaboy!’ sir?” the confused Communications Officer relayed the message from the flagship.

  With a s
mile, Argun Bettayam, began to chuckle softly. Only the First Admiral, he thought, could convey the exact sentiments that Argun had wanted to hear in one simple word. The chuckle turned into a laugh, more of relief and a release of the battle’s tension than any humour, as Argun Bettayam stepped through the dark grey force shielding image of the War Office door.

  With his laughter still echoing, Argun Bettayam left the stunned and silent War Room. When he had gone, there was none of the animosity, back-biting and resentment of soldiers who disrespected their incompetent, inconsistent superior officer. They had simply looked at each other in astonished confusion. That silence had spoken volumes. Argun Bettayam had passed the test of combat. Gone were the days of the wild-child, selfish, angry, insolent and bullying Third Admiral. Argun Bettayam had become what his subordinates and Third Fleet had needed, but had never dreamt that he would be.

  Third Admiral Argun Bettayam had become a commander.

  Chapter 6

  Meanwhile, as Argun Bettayam was destroying the Priteria Defence Forces, Nerla Daelstar watched calmly as the Traing battle fleet came into visual contact. The great host of small raider-craft seemed to fill the Viewing Screen like a great horde of locusts ready to strip bare a field of crops.

  “All right,” Nerla ordered her Weapons and Tactical Officer, “fire a couple of low-yield shots that’ll shake them up a bit, but let’s not do any damage, shall we?”

  “Aye, Ma’am” the tall, fair-skinned Corrollian Weapons and Tactical Officer responded and moved from his console to the targeting computer.

  For a moment his outline blurred as, still seated, he rolled in his chair to the other side of his console. Nerla stared for the split-second it took her to realise that Corrollians were not oxygen-rich air breathers as were the majority of the crew. Corrollians were nitrogen breathers. The Personal Environment Suit, or P.E.S., worn by her Weapons and Tactical Officer generated the artificial environment that kept her valued crew member alive in what would be to him a hostile environment.

  “Right, here we go,” she ordered her flotilla, “remember, a couple of low-yield shots, then run for it, drop the pods when they get a hit on you, then into stealth mode to move to position Bravo,” she outlined the basic plan of the operation.

  Nerla need not have bothered as the crews had rehearsed and practiced the moves required for the last six weeks, and had the precisely choreographed moves down to perfection. This was the First Admiral’s secret ruse to trap the Traing. It was based on an old Earth submariner’s trick. When a submarine was being hunted by an enemy surface ship, the submariners would shoot oil, debris, and, if they had sustained fatalities, the bodies of their crewmates, from the torpedo tubes to the surface. This was an attempt to make the enemy believe they had been sunk. It was a modification of that tactic that the entire strategy of this sector of the battle depended upon.

  For Nerla Daelstar, the time for nerves and anxiety had now gone. Sitting in the Command Chair of the Lionheart, she was possessed by a calmness she only really experienced in combat. As she issued her final orders before battle, that clarity of thought washed over her like a refreshing shower.

  “Open fire,” Nerla ordered her flotilla, and the pulsar-cannons of two hundred and fifty Crusaders spoke almost in unison.

  The swarm of low-yield pulsar-bolts slashed across the ever-decreasing gap between Nerla’s flotilla and the Traing Fleet in the space of a few brief moments.

  Some of the more adventurous Traing vessel commanders had increased speed to meet the Alliance flotilla, head-on, and were now being struck by the lowest-yield pulsar-bolts the Alliance ships could manage. Aboard these enterprising Traing vessels, there was a heavy thud and violent shaking of the superstructure, which left them otherwise undamaged. Shaken, and somewhat relieved to still be alive, the Traing captains had responded with their own volleys of weapons fire.

  “For what we are about to receive,” Nerla said quietly to herself, as the first projectiles rapidly approached the leading vessels of her flotilla.

  This was where they would find out if the new battle-shielding would work. If it didn’t work, then they were all going to die in very short order.

  A few moments later, the Traing projectiles struck. Crusaders around the Lionheart seemed to explode in a great roaring sheet of flame and debris. For a few moments, Nerla’s heart was in her mouth with the anxiety. However, a quick look at her View Screen indicated that the hull integrity of the “destroyed” Alliance Crusaders was still intact. The battle shielding had worked. Some of the Alliance Crusaders had taken more than one hit, and although their crews were shaken around, their vessels had survived undamaged.

  “Comms, announce to Flagship that the battle shielding is holding up,” Nerla ordered.

  “Aye-aye, ma’am,” the Communications Technician responded.

  The sigh of silent relief that swept through the Lionheart and the other flotilla Crusaders, did not register in Nerla’s ears, but the tension in the Command Cabin dropped noticeably. With a silent prayer of thanks to her ancestors for watching over her, Nerla focussed once again on the job at hand.

  “Navigator, let’s get out of here, but not too fast, I don’t want you losing them” she ordered Skull; the skeletal Mithric pilot in the Pit, who possessed the painfully thin physique of his species.

  Without a word of reply, the skilled Navigator swung the Crusader about smoothly. To the Traing commanders, it appeared that their first volley had destroyed almost one third of the Alliance vessels. The remainder of the Alliance vessels were now turning about and fleeing. In reality, aboard some of the Alliance ships, the commanders had simply activated the special pods connected to the underside of their hulls. On ejection the pods, laden with debris and dead Alliance and Maltorian personnel, had exploded. Meanwhile, the fully force shielded vessels had engaged their stealth fields, and vanished from the Traing scanners. The invisible Alliance vessels were now moving to take up position behind the Traing Fleet.

  The much-practiced manoeuvre was so quick and seamless that it appeared as if the Alliance vessels had been destroyed, whilst the Traing scanners easily picked up the floating debris and dead bodies, further adding to the illusion of destruction.

  Still, despite this technological success, Nerla Daelstar could not help just a small pang of anxiety in the Control Cabin of the Lionheart. Were the Traing buying into it? Did they really believe that they could beat a technologically superior Alliance flotilla?

  For a few brief heartbeats the entire Alliance flotilla waited for the pursuit, to lead them deeper into the First Admiral’s trap. For what seemed like an eternity, the Traing Fleet hung in space like a confused animal with an easy kill.

  “Come on, come on,” Nerla hissed quietly; her knuckles whitening as her hands clutched the arms of the Command Chair, feeling the anxiety level rise in the Command Cabin once again.

  The Traing had to believe that they had Nerla’s flotilla beaten. They had to believe that they were invincible, and that they could take on the entire Alliance fleet. Silently, Nerla willed the Traing vessels to move forwards, with little success. The hum of the Crusader’s Thrust engines was barely audible in the Command Cabin as was the muffled whisper of Voice-Comms from the rest of the flotilla. Despite Nerla’s unspoken urgings, the Traing vessels stayed stubbornly immobile.

  Then, with a whoop of triumph from Lionheart’s Pit-bound Navigator, the Traing Fleet moved forwards en-masse to begin the pursuit.

  “We did it,” thought Nerla, overcome with relief that all the preparation, planning and practice that had gone into the mission were now finally paying off.

  “Right, Navigator, set course for the Fleet, we’ll have a little surprise waiting for them,” she smiled and sat back in the Command Chair, allowing herself a small moment of relaxation.

  She had completed the first part of the mission; the Traing were heading right into the First Admiral’s trap. The Traing commanders, under the impression that they were invulnerable to the A
lliance ships’ fire, took off in a headlong pursuit of the “fleeing” Alliance vessels. This was exactly what the First Admiral had hoped for. The Traing were rising to his bait. Nerla Daelstar, having “survived” the first volley, led the remains of the still visible Alliance flotilla away from the initial contact towards the waiting pulsar-cannons of the rest of the Alliance Fleet.

  In the frantically active War Room of the Star-Cruiser Aquarius, the First Admiral calmly smiled with satisfaction. The graphic on the Tactical View Screen indicated that the Traing had taken the bait, and were pursuing Nerla Daelstar’s Squadrons.

  Rather than leading the Traing on a straight-line course to the Pritern rendezvous point, Nerla was leading them, by subtle changes of course, towards the waiting horseshoe of the Alliance Fleet. The First Admiral tapped one of the holographic blue icons at the rear of the cluster of Alliance ships on the View Screen with his fingertip, and it immediately sprang into Real View mode. It showed a frontal view of the constantly firing Traing fleet as it pursued Nerla’s ships. In the rear of the view another Alliance ship “exploded” to encourage the Traing to make their headlong pursuit even more reckless. Switching back to Graphic mode, the First Admiral noted that there were now around ninety of the two hundred and fifty Crusaders, in stealth mode, shadowing the Traing Fleet from behind. The trap was closing on the Traing.

  Nerla Daelstar, meanwhile, just could not help smiling with jubilation. She sat in her Command Chair, as Lionheart and the small Alliance Squadron sped forwards, recklessly pursued by the entire Traing Fleet. Confidently, she watched her own View Screen intensely as the plasma-bolts from the Traing fleet flashed through the fleeing flotilla of Alliance ships.

  “WATO” she called to the Weapons and Tactical Officer, “it’s time we got ourselves destroyed.”

  “Aye-aye, Ma’am” he responded, “going to stealth mode and activating pod separation in five, four, three, two, one, we are now stealthed,” he intoned.

  The battle shielding of Lionheart engaged into the calculated stealth frequency to that of the Trions in the immediate vicinity. Then, in the same instant, the special pod slung beneath the vessel was disengaged and exploded. To the Traing, it appeared that the lead Alliance ship had just been hit and destroyed. To Nerla Daelstar it felt like she had just been kicked on the backside, as Lionheart was jolted by the debris of the exploding pod. On engaging stealth mode, the Navigator had pulled Lionheart into a vertical climb. For one heart stopping, stomach lurching moment Nerla felt that she was going to fall over the back of the Command Chair. Then, the Gravity Compensation System had kicked in, and to Nerla’s relief, Lionheart was back into correct orientation. Within a few seconds, Lionheart had climbed above the flight line of the pursuing Traing vessels as they hurtled blindly and heedlessly after the remaining Alliance vessels.