Impediment
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2022 by Walter Reimer

Prompt: nuisance


Bōank was an Imperial Type 94 Pattern J heavy cruiser; the other five ships were roughly similar. As such, it had been designed to destroy anything smaller than itself, hold off anything of comparable size, and retreat from anything larger.

Of course, that was if the cruiser was part of a larger and more diverse force.

Bōank heeled sharply and the artigrav flickered. “Shields took most of it,” the Weaponeer said as she recovered her footing. She was a backup; the kam who had been Weaponeer at the start of the battle had been injured and was now in the ship’s infirmary. “Port shields at fifteen percent, tumbling.”

“Damage?” Varan asked as her ship twisted and spun, firing almost constantly.

“Hull damage from Frames 17 to 36,” and her ears went back. “Primary turrets 7 and 8 are out – recommendation.”

“Yes?”

“Recommend disabling the artigrav. We need more power.”

“Concur,” said the Engineer.

“Very well,” and Varan opened the shipwide intercom. “All personnel, prepare for reduced gravity.” The ship was in a battle, so the order was largely superfluous, and as small objects lifted from the deck and began to drift in stray air currents, Varan took stock of the situation.

Meritorious was limping away, trailing debris, after taking on two Terran cruisers itself and destroying one of them; Rapacity had been holed, but was still fighting, and the other cruisers had damage ranging from heavy to moderate. None had been destroyed, which gave Varan some solace.

More cheering was the knowledge that between them the six cruisers had decimated the Terran destroyer screen and destroyed several of the cruisers. The two battleships were proving to be a problem, however; it was fire from one of them that had carved a hole into Rapacity.

“Captain,” came the voice of her Command-Second, in the auxiliary control room.

“Tabin.”

“Should we fall back further?”

“We’re already behind the system defense stations.” Those had accounted for the rest of the Terran destroyers, and several more cruisers.

“We need to effect repairs.”

“True, but we cannot disengage, as you know,” Varan said. “We must hold them here – “ The ship shuddered again “ – until reinforcement arrives.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Attack pattern T-7,” she said, and the Weaponeer, her tail wrapped around an anchor point, obeyed. The ship maneuvered to within firing distance of one of the two battleships, traded blows with it, and sped away as fast as it could go. “Damage?”

“Shield grid F destroyed, hyperfield network damaged, six percent power falloff.”

Varan ground her teeth. The Bōank raked a Terran cruiser in passing, ripping open its hull.

“Ma’am, incoming hyperspace wakes,” Sensors said.

“Respectful’s breaking off, very heavy damage,” Communications reported.

Varan gestured comprehension. “Analysis of the wakes?”

“Power curves indicate Imperial ships.”

Her fist clenched in its armored glove.

Half of the Kashlanin Second Fleet appeared in front of the Terran force, with the rest inphasing behind the enemy. “All ships, this is Admiral Tajan,” and the image of the Second Fleet’s commander appeared, “attack formations. Gartabin g’Raf?”

“Here, Sir.”

“Move your patrol group to Lalande orbit. Repair ships will meet you there.”

“Thank you, Frelen.”

“My thanks to you and the other ships’ captains, Gartabin,” the image vanished, and as the six cruisers limped away the remainder of the Terran force was engaged by the reinforcing Kashlanin ships.

Quarter was not requested, nor was it given.


***


“Feranq?” The name immediately preceded a knock on his office door. Not the annunciator; an actual knock.

Admiral-General Gromov glanced up from his padd and said, “Enter,” before straightening up as a red panda femme stepped in, her banded tail whisking out of the way before the door closed. “Hello, Rikki.”

Rikki Schalke pointed at his padd. “So you’ve seen the news.”

“Of course.” The Kashlani had sent recordings of the battle along with a diplomatic protest to the Terran Foreign Ministry, who had forwarded it to the tiger while vociferously disclaiming any knowledge or responsibility. Minister Balakrishnan was reportedly tearing her headfur out.

“What are we doing about it?” the wah demanded.

“I already have,” Gromov said, waving her to take a seat. She complied, and he said, “The ForMin is doing the exact right thing, and I expect the Kashlani will accept it.”

“What?”

“They can easily determine that we’re not mobilizing for war, Rikki. In fact, we’re drawing down our forces, despite the strong objections of a few in the Admiralty and among the officer corps,” he said, carefully deadpan.

The tiger and the red panda had known each other for years; Schalke thought about what he said and her eyes suddenly widened. “You – you – “

“Yes,” he said bluntly. “A strong force, albeit older ships, commanded by the loudest mouths. Better tell Personnel to brace for a few promotions.”

She continued to gape at him. “There’s a very old story in my family.”

Schalke blinked. “Yes?”

He nodded. “Supposedly, far back, I come from a military family – from before Terra had spaceflight.”

“That far back?”

“Yeah. According to a story my grandfather told me, this ancestor had been a general, and his usual method of clearing a minefield was to march his own troops through it.” The tiger’s tail swished. “Having unreliable officers in the command structure could only cause trouble, and that trouble would only increase over time. This method – well, it was a hard decision to make, but it clears a number of obstacles.”

“And we can plausibly write it off as a rogue operation,” Rikki said, stroking her chin fur with a paw. She glanced at him. “Did ‘M’ put you up to this?”

“All my idea,” Gromov said flatly. “’M’ was impressed when I told him.”

“I shouldn’t wonder.”