Chapter Thirty-Three (1/2)
Admiral Yamatoto watched the icons of the ships move toward his. He'd already divided his fleet up into four action groups, including reinforcements. The podnaughts and missile wagons hanging back, rolling pods and dropping tractor beam held Stalinorgan class missile pods.
I could shove missile packs down the throat of every single boat you have and just have to reload, Yamamoto thought to himself. You are lucky that the Confed Navy Rules of Engagement insist I have to wait until you present a clear and present threat to my forces or forces/areas under my protection or I'd tear you into space dust fine enough to sprinkle on a stripper's ass in the Marine's enlistedman's club.
”We are in range, Admiral,” His XO signaled. ”Orders?”
”Hold fire. What are the chances that they can hurt us?” Yamamoto asked.
The Treana'ad shrugged. ”There's always Admiral Murphy's Law in place, but for the most part, barring that they won't do much more than bang us around.”
”Missiles incoming. They'll be at max speed of .15C. Warheads are a mixture of plasma torpedo and anti-matter forged lasers,” the tactical Officer In Charge called out.
”Why didn't they just throw rocks at us?” Rear Admiral Michi clicked.
”The rock probably outsmarted them and got away,” Admiral Yamatoto answered. ”Are they firing a second salvo?”
”No, sir. VI computes that all of the missiles are aimed at only a tenth of our ships. Looks like the Arizona is going to take roughly a hundred or so,” Tactical answered.
”Get Thresher of the Glorious in tighter, the Arizona's point defense was pretty mangled last engagement,” Michi ordered.
Admiral Yamamoto understood concentrating your fire, but he watched as only a small fraction of the ships actually fired. The rank behind came up and took that rank's place as the firing rank dropped back to the back.
Are. You. Kidding. Me? Admiral Yamamoto asked.
Read Admiral Michi turned and looked at his Admiral. ”Did they just do what I think they did?”
The Tactical OIC, a human with nearly three hundred years in the Confederate Navy looked at his tactical display, rebooted it, ran a diagnostic, rebooted it again, then replayed what just happened.
”Did they just...” he asked.
”Tactical and Coms, do you have the flagship and the next in command figured out?” Admiral Yamamoto snapped out, a sudden plan coming to his mind.
”Fleet AI wasn't sure that the attack VI had actually penetrated their communications, tactical, and data-net, but apparently it wasn't a veneer or tarbaby trap, it's so laughably ineptly protected that Verthimax called all the VI back and ordered them examined for traps. We not only can tell you which ships is which, but can give you the blueprints of the ship,” The Tactical Officer said.
”Their Fleet Commander is apparently one of the Corporate Security CEO's. He left his banking information on his computer if you want me to spend it all on deviant pornography and body pillows,” The Com officer said.
”No, his widow's going to need that money,” Yamamoto said, staring at the tactical display. ”Let me guess, the command ships are those ones staying back at the jumpspace boundary?”
”Yes, sir,” Tactical answered.
”Tell Verthimax to put whoever scored the best during last year's C+ competition and had the best fire/hit ratio during the last battle,” Yamamoto said.
”You know, I can hear you, Admiral,” The ship's Fleet AI answered.
”I know. Proper chain of command,” Yamamoto said. ”I'm thinking.”
”I've got the CSV Damascus Star on the line, suh,” Verthimax replied in a stuffy English accent.
”Thank you, Max,” Yamamoto said.
”Damascus Star here, Admiral,” The Captain, one Shess Flowersniffer, a Saurian, stated, his speech clear and relaxed.
”I'll be sending you fire plans, Damascus. I want your best gunnery crews on this,” Yamamoto said slowly, staring at the tactical display. ”Only execute them at my orders.”
”Sir, yes, sir,” The Saurian said. ”My men are proud to serve.”
”Thank you, Damascus,” Yamamoto said. He put the plan together, ran it by tactical, and had them ship it to the fire control systems and technicians of the Damascus Star.
”Here it comes. Impact in sixty seconds,” Tactical warned.
”I could have got out and swam faster,” Michi scoffed.
Verthimax chuckled.
”Thirty seconds,” Tactical called out.
”IMPACT IMPACT IMPACT!” Tactical called out over the Fleet channel. Despite the fact that his own ship wasn't one of the ones targeted, Yamamoto felt his guts clench.
Long seconds passed as the Tactical Officers listened to the reports streaming in.
”Arizona reports one 'kind of' hit. Apparently the missile went through the open space in the hull and flew out the other side. They want to know if it counts,” Tactical said.
”Tell them no,” Michi suggested.
”For after action reports and crew/VI training, yes. For anything else, no,” Yamamoto said. He turned to Electronic Warfare. ”Open me a channel to that mooing moron. Break in if you have to.”
”Roger, sir. Five seconds. We have an FTL transmitter less than a hundred miles from them,” EWCOM said.
”Looks like they're firing again, looks like the same targets,” Tactical said.
”Yes, because that worked so well,” Michi sneered.
”Connected. EVR boardroom or direct to the Flag Bridge, sir?” Coms asked.
”Right here. I want him to see me. Make sure that Damascus can see and hear me,” Yamamoto ordered. He used his implant to change his armored vac-suit's visor to clear and faced the display panel. He knew Verthimax would scramble the images on the scanners and displayers behind him to prevent the enemy from spotting any useful intel.
He reminded Verthimax that cartoon pornography designed to be offensive to the viewer was currently unacceptable and that psychological warfare was not allowed at that time under the Rules of Engagement.
-*-Oh, I would never do such a thing-*- Verthimax answered, dumping the files into the garbage bin and 'whistling' innocently.
The being was staring at Yamamoto in shock.
”Get off my viewscreen,” it lowed.
”Make me,” Yamamoto said, putting his hands on the back of his crash-couch and leaning forward.
”Sixty seconds to impact!” Tactical called out.