“Numerous enemy signals confirmed in front of us!” A rather excited subordinate announces to the rest of the bridge. “We caught the Feddies with their pants down!” Gradually, discipline begins to break down. There are a lot of excited yells and hollering as the men get far too excited over this revelation. But… I don’t blame them. They have had no outlet up until now—and to catch this many Federation ships off guard… not even I can help but sneak a smirk.
If I have to be truthful, I never intended to counter the Federation in such a sad state. There are either divine powers at play, or the Federation military is in no short supply of ambitious idiots and shortsighted buffoons. If I was facing a Federation commander with a cool head on his shoulders, I do no doubt that in a situation like this I would be obliterated—and despite Olga’s genius plan, we pulled through. I never quite believed in the phenomenon of coincidences, but to repeat what a fellow said—we certainly did ‘catch them with their pants down’.
But still. The crew is getting far too rowdy. I glance over them for a split second which is all it takes for them to settle down and get back to work. It’s good for them to want to release some stress, but I’d much prefer it if we stipend as much as we can. Said energy will need to be preserved for the forthcoming force march back to the Velksland system. In some ways, my men are no different—it seems there is an equal distribution of idiocy throughout the Orion Arm—the Mafia is no exception. Some things just can’t be helped.
It was Olga who pitched the idea of warping in first. I objected to it, of course—it was too dangerous. I figured it was obvious that the Taiga’s old-fashioned transponder would be seen through—and to my actual shock, the Federation was fooled by it. And they were fooled long enough for my fleet to reinforce the Taiga— I expected a bitter counterattack, but it seemed the destroyer squadrons directly in front of us crumbled rather easily. Even now, it seems the Federation is attempting a defensive retreat to give some distance between us for their optimal missile barrages, but some fired off prematurely—though they were done so in a panic, so thankfully we have not suffered any real damage.
I stroll to the communications operator who looks up from his monitor in surprise and stumbles to give me a chest salute, to which he asks, “Y-you wish to transmit orders to the fleet, Madame?”
It will be a little difficult, of course. Except for the Castelforte, the Taiga, and Sergi’s Hugh all our transponders are more or less left behind in Velksland, we will need to do wired transmissions—which can leave us slowed down a fair bit. I can only pray that Olga and Sergi—as well as the other ship captains, are capable of their own decision making. They will need to have orders in advance and decide from there on the best course of action.
We have to keep momentum, no matter what. “Transit a wired signal to the other ships to stick close to those destroyer screens—and then advance through to the cruisers and those battlecruisers. We have the advantage in close range weaponry.” I inform the operator. I glance over at the holographic map and it’s obvious that the latter two formations are not yet aware of the carnage at the vanguard. Who knows if the formation commander will risk the collateral damage and fire on his men—I can only imagine they would have the justification if it means to take me down—and if they take me down… then Simon and the others are finished.
But this is a Federation armada. They’re humane in their methods—not a colonial armada like the Ruthenians, who would surely take the chances.
The operator picks up the receiver, but frowns and looks back at me questionably, “—is that all, Madame? Surely you have more in mind…”
“Now that you mention it, I almost did forget something.” I cross my arms and glance over again at the display. It seems some hot-headed captains arrived at the same conclusion and leisurely helped themselves to serve justice onto their Federation intruders—which included ramming straight into them. Typical. And that makes me frown. “Actually, yes, if the captains can help it, I want to empathize that ramming tactics should be kept to a minimum. Use close-range weaponry when available. And under no circumstances…” I turn my gaze back to the operator who shrinks under my glare, “should we ever do boarding parties. Those will slow us down. I can’t risk us missing even a second of this momentum gained by the battleship deception.”
With an affirmative nod, the operator relays the order into his receiver, and soon after shuttles are dispatched to the other ships to relay orders with their wired connections. “While we’re at it,” I turn to some of the other operators, “open a channel to Sergi and Olga. I need to ensure they are aware of these plans as well. It will be easier to relay orders that way.” Moments later, a dual display of Olga and Sergi show up on the bridge’s mainframe computers, who both give the customary chest salutes.
“Madame?” The two asked in unison.
“I’ve already sent out messengers informing the fleet. Actually… it’s embarrassing to admit as it didn’t occur to me to do this earlier… I will need your cooperation to keep communication open with your squadrons. Push as close to the Metropol lines and penetrate as deep as you can—the deeper the better,” I pause as the two of them make faces but regain their composure when they realized I take notice, “…our cannons should be more than enough to make quick work of the ships we pass through to the battlecruisers. I stressed this to the other captains—but do not ram the Federations if you can help it… or initiate any boarding parties—that is all. It is likely I will be unable to maintain communication with the two of you as this battle develops, so I trust the two of you will be able to make autonomous decisions.” And with that, we end transmissions.
Making my way to the radar staff, they give me cool glances and even more casual salutes. “Were you able to gather any information on where the other Metropol fleets are?” I ask, and the two of them exchange relaxed looks.
“There’s a lone detachment… smaller than this one… at the Ides hyper-line point. They… haven’t made any moves towards us yet. There does… seem to be a fleet… as large as this one… camped outside Baltit… that still hasn’t sent… a relief…” One of them says slowly and clearly. For some reason I find it oddly aggravating that he speaks this way, but he’s one of the best technicians I have and Simon has vouched for him, so it can’t be helped.
“Thank you, you may carry on.” But, regardless, it is good news. If we overrun the Federation lines then this skirmish will be over before we know it—and even if the fleet slips away, it will have suffered enough damage so that it won’t be a problem even if we ambush the Ides formation next.
“Get our ship to the front-lines as close as possible—I don’t want a single ship cowering in the rear. We either devote everything we have or the cowards will get picked off by range!” The men grunt affirmatively, and I retire to my comforting chair at the top deck of the bridge.
So long as either Olga or Sergi don’t do anything too reckless, we will get through this without trouble.
