The Frihet Rebellion
Chapter 8: The Battle

The three-hundred strong Earth Fleet approached the Raga System with open arrogance. Admiral Kramer chose to deploy the minimum requirement of outlying scouts, and maneuvered his strongest ships into a broad and impressive line-up. A show of strength. Behind this front line sat the Med and Supply ships, guarded by a small group of second-line warships.

“Are you sure this is a wise formation, Admiral?” said Captain Crawford Sumner over the inter-ship communicator, a note of concern in his voice. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Admiral Kramer smiled grimly. The question, the doubt, was one he would only accept from a captain he held in such high esteem,

“I’m sure, Captain,” he said. “At its strongest, under our control, the Frihet Navy numbered no more than 200 ships of all classes. Her actual warships were no more than half that number. Even if the rebels had managed to resurrect it to full strength, and that’s doubtful, we could crush them without a problem.”

“But your formation is more parade than attack,” said Sumner, insistent.

“The show of force will scare them.”

“If they got behind us…”

“They won’t,” cut in Kramer. “Captain, I appreciate your concern, although, were you not a man of some experience, it would have landed you in trouble by now.”

“I know that, Admiral,” said Sumner. Humble. Acquiescent. “And I’m happy we can be open and honest with each other.”

“Indeed we can,” said Kramer. “But I need to know if you’re also happy to follow my orders? If not, we will have a problem.”

“I never intended to do anything but follow your orders,” said Sumner. “I simply wished to discuss the reasoning behind them. I would never disobey an order from my Admiral.”

“I knew as much, but it’s good to hear it,” said Kramer. “I want to clear this rebel mess up quickly, and I need to be sure my best captain is one-hundred percent behind me.”

“You can depend on me, Admiral,” said Sumner. “The rebels are as good as destroyed.”

Kramer switched off the inter-ship communicator and settled back into his command seat. He made a mental note to watch Captain Sumner more carefully. The younger man was showing signs of ambition. Questioning his orders, however politely, could be the start of a move for the Admiralty. Centuries ago that might not have mattered, but the whole structure of the armed forces had changed so many times since then. In its current state there was only one admiral in the Earth navy, and that was Kramer. Above him, only one man stood in the way of the office of President; General Kyger. The man in overall charge of the Earth military. Putting down this rebellion would be a further step in Kramer’s rise towards the top, and he did not need anyone snapping at his own heels in the meantime.

The readings on his personal HUD showed that they were now at the outer edge of the Raga System. He switched the display. Slowly, the image grew. The star Raga, then the largest planets, the smaller ones, the moons and, gradually, numerous unfamiliar dots moving in formation ahead of his fleet. What were they? It was impossible to make out any detail at this resolution. Starfire’s much more powerful scanners would provide identification.

He was about to request the scan from his crew, when First Officer Crane interrupted him.

“Admiral, we have a large number of possible unfriendlies approaching.”

“Identify,” said Kramer, quickly regaining his composure.

After a moment accessingStarfire’s immense store of historical data, Crane replied, “Mostly G-class warships, Admiral. Ancient stock.”

Kramer nodded, thoughtful. Long since discontinued on Earth, the G-class warships had been reliable and powerful, and, once superseded, offloaded onto the colonial worlds to provide their own protection. The large number of such ships before him were far more than Frihet would have access to. The only answer was that they were a combination of ships from other planets in the Raga system. But whose side were they on? Could the rebellion have spread so quickly?

“Admiral,” said Crane. “They are maneuvering themselves into a recognizable attack formation.”

That answers that question.

“Estimate of size?”

“At least a thousand ships.”

A thousand! They can outgun us, even though they’re old. I was, perhaps, overconfident. I didn’t expect resistance on such a scale.

“Sound the alarm throughout the fleet. All ships into battle formation!”

“Yes, sir.”

The first explosion rolled a rumbling shock wave through the floor of the bridge. Kramer, unprepared, almost slipped out of his command seat. Those crew standing stumbled, the seated shook.

A second explosion followed, with little adverse effect on the now prepared crew of the bridge. Then a third.

The lights flickered off in the bridge, quickly glowing back to life as the power systems repaired themselves automatically.

“That wasn’t enemy fire,” said Kramer, more unsettled than his outward, in control demeanor showed. “Those explosion came from inside the ship! Get me a damage report.”

“At least one of those targeted the engines, Admiral,” said Chief Engineer Lawson. “The damage is more than the self-repair protocols can deal with. We’re limping, at best.”

“Maneuverability?”

“Limited.”

“What about our weapons?”

“Main armament fused, Admiral,” said Ensign Roberts. “Unusable. Smaller armaments undamaged.”

“Those explosions were well targeted,” said Kramer grimly.

“Both the inner and outer walls of our primary conduit have been compromised,” said Ensign Roberts. “We’re losing atmosphere. Life Support is unable to compensate.”

“How long?”

“No more than two hours.”

“But how…?” began First Officer Crane, wiping blood from a small wound on his forehead.

"Ciummi," sneered Kramer. “The bastard we have down in the brig.” It seemed obvious when he thought about it. “He didn’t have some sort of psychotic episode, he’s one of the rebels, and as sane as any of us. Has to be.

Kramer almost growled in his rage. He had treated the man humanely, even got his wounds treated, both physical and, so claimed, mental. He’d been played for a fool. It did not sit well with him.

“Set a course directly for Frihet,” he said, his voice low, barely audible beyond the navigation crew he spoke to. “Just bulldoze through those ships out there, let the rest of the fleet handle them. I’m not sitting here while we lose air, waiting to die. We’re going to pay a personal visit to the rebel planet.”

Starfire drove forward, its damaged engines straining at the demand placed on them, headed directly towards Frihet and a, hopefully survivable, planetfall.

Captain Sumner, placed in temporary command of the fleet by Admiral Kramer, began organizing the remaining ships into a defensive pattern. He released twenty fighter craft to fly alongside Starfire, providing protection to the flagship. Otherwise, he drew all his craft in, protecting the Med and Supply ships while retaining as wide a range of fire as possible.

The thousand-plus ships of the combined Raga System navy attacked with little subtlety, but immense speed and fury. Starfire drew a small number away, who were immediately engaged by the fighter craft Sumner had deployed. But the main battle flared into destructive glory around the encircled main fleet.

Kramer brought up an image on his HUD, watching his fleet out-flown and out-fought by ships Earth had dumped on the colonies as out-of-date and near worthless. Weight of numbers played a part, but he could not deny that the Raga System pilots were skillful, brave and determined.

Centuries of near unchallenged superiority had burdened the Earth military with too many people who viewed it as a safe, well-pensioned job. The military, to Kramer, had never been just a job. It was a way of life, a calling, a vocation. The current dynamic of the Earth military was disheartening, disappointing. Too many jobsworths. Too many just biding their time until retirement and that all-important pension. Too many with no fire in their bellies, no driving force of patriotism. No pride in the service they provided for their government.

The destruction of his fleet by the rebels of Raga was proof, to Kramer, that the Earth military was in dire need of a purge. If he survived to reach Earth again, he would personally confront General Kyger and insist.

But first he had to survive.

“Prepare for evacuation,” he commanded, confident the relevant officers on his bridge would react accordingly.

“Crew are proceeding to their allotted lifeboat stations,” said First Officer Crane, his voice calm and level.

“Twenty minutes out from Frihet, Sir.” Helmsman Marshall fought, with some success, to control the crippled ship.

Kramer checked his HUD. All the enemy who had followed him were destroyed. Only two of Sumner’s fighters remained.

“Instruct Captain Sumner’s pilots to return to their ship,” he said, waiting a moment as that order was relayed and acted upon. With all sensors showing clear space around Starfire, he gave the one order he had hoped never to give.

“Abandon ship.”

Via his HUD he could see the crew filing towards their allotted lifeboat stations throughout the ship. He was proud of the way they maintained their professionalism. There was no outward panic, although he was sure many felt it inside. There was a knot of fear sitting in his own stomach as he watched. He continued to flick between the various views until the corridors of Starfire were eerily empty.

“Lifeboats launching,” said Crane.

Kramer, watching on his HUD, saw the small dots leaving his ship, heading for the surface of Frihet.

Seven of them veered violently off course, heading erratically towards the edge of his sensor range.

“Report!” he snapped.

“Some lifeboats must have received damage to their guidance systems in the explosions, Sir. We can’t retrieve them. They’re lost.”

Kramer closed his eyes, for a moment imagining the fear, the panic among those trapped aboard the rogue lifeboats. He would not blame them for letting go of their professionalism in that situation. But he could not afford to dwell on it. There were too many others relying on him.

“Any other damage?”

“Lifeboats 45 through 53 failed to launch.”

He nodded, the knot of fear in his stomach turning, twisting, grinding. Ciummi’s sabotage had done more damage than anyone had thought. But Kramer knew he could no more help the crew stranded on Starfire, than he could those in the wildly out of control lifeboats now fading, one after another, as they went out of range of his HUD.

“I’m unable to maintain a safe entry angle and speed, Sir,” said Marshall. “Between the damage and the pull of Frihet’s gravity, she’s heading in whatever I do.”

“Prepare the bridge,” said Kramer. It was the final act, the one thing left to do on Starfire.

Locks slammed into place. Panels dropped. Bolts were disengaged. The bridge became a self-contained spacecraft.

“Launch.”

The bridge separated from the main body of Starfire, firing a short burst of power to direct them into a safe entry path for Frihet’s atmosphere. Already, there were numerous flares of ships descending to Frihet ahead of them.

Kramer watched the retreating, crippled hulk of his ship on his HUD. He did not allow himself to think of those assigned Lifeboats 45 to 53, still on board. He did, however, allow himself a quick thought to Ciummi, stranded in the brig. When Starfire broke up, burning, in Frihet’s upper atmosphere, Ciummi’s death was one he would not feel sorry for.

A plan was forming in his mind as the bridge lifeboat carried him and his crew to safety. An audacious plan. A dangerous plan. A plan to severely damage the morale and, therefore, the fighting strength of the rebels. And to make a hero out of Admiral Jorcam Kramer in the process.

Starfire began to burn, to crack open, littering the sky of Frihet with hundreds of small meteorites, burning out before they could penetrate fully. The crew stranded by the in-operational lifeboats were sucked out into space, or burst into grotesque candles, bubbling with flesh and fat.

Ciummi sat in the brig, awaiting death.

He had succeeded. The explosives he planted had crippled the ship. Its roaring, creaking, cracking death was directly attributable to his actions. He was proud and prepared for a martyr’s death, thinking only of the beloved, spiritual world he had never visited, as the walls of the brig began to buckle from the heat.

He was silent as flame blossomed forth and consumed him, his body unmoving, accepting, until it finally toppled sideways, his bones liquefied.

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