The Orleans, sometime later
The message caused Admiral Gauss a mild shock when it arrived in his Flag office on the Orleans, brought there by a Signals rating and handed to the Admiral at his desk. Admiral Gauss read the hyperphone message for the fifth time, still not quite sure whether to believe it or not.
REAR ADMIRAL ISAAC GAUSS, COMTASKFORONE
SENDS: CHIEF OF STAFF, NAVY DEPARTMENT
YOU ARE PROMOTED TO FLEET ADMIRAL WITH RANK EFFECTIVE JULY THIRD. ASSUME FLEET COMMAND AS OF RECEIPT OF THIS MESSAGE.
PRIMARY TASK IS RECLAMATION OF NEW ALBION.
PRESIDENT COCHET SENDS PERSONAL CONGRATULATIONS AND CONFIDENCE.
“I wonder what happened to Admiral Kosake,” Captain Jensen said, reading over the Admiral’s shoulder.
“Retired,” Gauss guessed, correctly as it happened. “And President Cochet has passed the ball to me, well well.” He laid the printout carefully aside. He looked down at his Navy green collar, where the two tiny silver stars of a Rear Admiral glittered. “I suppose I’ll have to wait until I’m at the Fleet dock again to pick up a new set of rank, Jerry.”
“The President probably expects you to come back to Tarbos to the Fleet Headquarters,” Captain Jensen observed.
“Nope,” Gauss snapped. “Not a damned chance. Two stars or five, you can’t lead combat operations from a cushy office in the Fleet spacedock on Tarbos, and I won’t try. If the President expects me to squat behind a desk like Admiral Kosake did, she’ll be disappointed. Besides, we can’t spare a ship for the six weeks or so it would take to get me there. What’s the ETA on the Arcadia?
“Three weeks, sir. Six more after that for the Ranger. We’ll have two more light cruisers, the Glengarry and the Pretoria, in four weeks.”
“Good enough.”
The new Fleet Admiral drummed his fingers on his desk, a habit he had when mulling over new information.
“Call the Mountain View. We’ll transfer our flag over there for the time being. The President informs me that our main job is taking back New Albion. Well, I’m not going to give up on Master Chief Ortega’s idea; we’ve devoted too much time and planning to it. We’ll form Task Group 1.1 on the Arcadia, along with the Seattle, the Orleans and four or five of the frigates and destroyers. That’s enough firepower to kick the hell out of any Grugell force they’re liable to bump into. The rest of Task Group One heads for New Albion, along with the Marine division. I’ll want the carrier to support landing operations there.”
“Divide forces, sir?”
“That’s what I said. Go wake up the staff, tell them I want to be briefed on their plan in twelve hours. The objectives are the liberation of New Albion, and a diversionary deep strike into Grugell space with the objective of destroying at least one major supply source.”
“Yes, sir.” Captain Jensen walked briskly out of the Flag office, sliding the door shut behind him and leaving the new Fleet Admiral alone with his thoughts.
New Albion
An entire legion of Grugell infantry garrisoned the newly reduced New Albion. Avoiding the nuked belt of the main continent, they established a base in an archipelago of islands in the planet’s southern hemisphere, where the warm tropical climate made up for the oppressively heavy gravity of the mineral-rich world.
Occupation Commander Kiddastachik XI hated the planet. He hated the scrubby brush of the large island where his headquarters was set up; he hated the heavy gravity that sapped his strength, he hated the occasional ash fall from the volcano at the heart of the island, he hated the white sand beach along the oceanfront, he hated the incessant calling of the four-winged, leathery flyers that clustered along the shore to feed on dead sea life.
Still, the posting was a plum, a jewel, and an essential step towards greater things in the Grugell Navy. Kiddastachik wasn’t about to mess it up.
Roving patrols over the mountains of the northern continent revealed no signs of human activity. No human ships had been sighted in the area. The Imperium had no Occupation ship to support his operations, but three cruisers had been sent to the area, along with a flight of small landing shuttles to ferry necessary supplies down the gravity well to his troops.
Kiddastachik’s orders were to hold this planet at all costs. He didn’t have the courage to fail.
Tarbos
“He’s not coming back to Tarbos, you know.”
President Janine Cochet looked up to see the Chief of Staff of the Confederate Navy Department, James Gallagher, standing in the office doorway.
“Did you think he would?”
“No. I suppose that’s what makes him the right man for the job.”
“If he’s not,” the President replied, “I’ll find someone else. I think he’ll do, though. Sit down, Jim.” She gestured towards a chair across from her massive desk.
Gallagher was a small man, birdlike, quick in his movements and speech, and a former Special Air Service commando from the United Kingdom on Earth. He sat on the edge of the chair, filled as he usually was with nervous energy.
“I’ve looked into Admiral Gauss’ dossier,” he began. “He graduated, you know, from the United States Air Force Academy. His career has been impressive, although he’s known in the Service as something of a maverick, a difficult man to work with.”
“I’m an old American myself, by birth, Jim. You know how we Yankees love our cowboys.” The President turned on one of her election-stump-speech smiles.
“Indeed. I’m not questioning the choice, Madam President. In fact, I approve. Admiral Gauss left the U.S. Air Force as a Colonel, and entered the Confederate Navy as a Rear Admiral – and now, in less than four years, he’s in command of the Navy as a whole. Much of the Navy’s senior leadership is in similar circumstances; almost all of the senior officers and the non-commissioned officer corps have been pulled out of the various armed services on Earth. A few of them joined from Off-World Mining’s Security corps, but none of them have formal military training. Ma’am, we’re asking a lot of these people.”
“What’s on your mind, Jim?”
“Training, Madam President. We’ve established Camp Instruction here to train Marines, and we’ve got the new Navy Academy, but we need to build more training bases for enlisted personnel, preferably scattered about the Confederacy. I’d also like to see a program similar to the old Reserve Officer Training Corps in your country to train Navy officers in the various universities on the several worlds.”
“You’ve been watching the news commentaries, haven’t you?”
“You cannot deny that it’s a good idea, Madam President.”
“No, I can’t. But building ships has funding priority at the moment. The Confederate Treasury isn’t a money tree, James.”
“Yes, true indeed.”
President Cochet flipped a couple of papers over. “So, what’s become of former Fleet Admiral Kosake?”
“He turned down reassignment. Instead, he has accepted early retirement, and plans to return to Earth.”
“Good.” President Cochet had no desire to punish the rather timid officer, only to remove him. “Regulations allow the Navy to pay his travel to his choice of retirement location, don’t they? See that he gets a ticket as soon as possible. I’d rather have him on Earth than Tarbos.”
Forty kilometers away, Camp Instruction
Four regiments of Marines were now trained and ready at Camp Instruction. Inbound from Earth now, the well-worn OWME passenger liner Santa Maria would take the Marines to the Fleet.
The First Confederate Marine Expeditionary Force Commander, Major General Austin Anderson, knew their destination. So did his Deputy Commander, and within a day the Regimental commanders would know as well.
Nobody else would know until they were en route to New Albion.
Halifax
Months ahead of schedule, the Dreadnought Arcadia was backing slowly out of Graving Dock One.
Arnold Emory was present to see it leave. The massive ship was leaving with a minimal crew, and would be carrying out a minimal shakedown before reporting to the Fleet; but Emory was supremely confident in his design, and in the Navy personnel that was taking the ship out.
Backing slowly out of the berth with puffs of maneuvering thrusters, the slate-blue bulk of the ship was studded with particle beam projectors and missile bays. Projectors for a massive force-field scoop at the front augmented the now-quiet maw of the Gellar tunnel; the ship would be faster than any other ship currently in active service.
As the ship cleared the berth and began to turn for departure, Emory looked up across the scaffolding of the graving dock. Five kilometers up from where he stood was Graving Dock Three; in that dock, the second Dreadnought Ranger was nearing completion. The Ranger would leave in three more weeks.
The shipbuilder shook his head. He’d have bet a year’s pay that the yard couldn’t have finished both ships in time.
An unmarked rally point near Fortune
For the first time since the war began, three privateer ships met to conduct a joint operation. Jean Barrett’s Shade Tree, Johann Hess’ Red Witch, and David Jones’ Cape Fear were assembled at a randomly selected rally point, and their Captains met aboard the Cape Fear to plan their next move.
The Cape Fear, out of Halifax, was a larger ship than either Shade Tree or the Red Witch, which was why the Captains met there, in the Cape Fear’s Wardroom. As Indira Krishnavarna ran through the sensor calibrations she’d developed for tracking subspace transits, Barrett surreptitiously studied her two fellow captains.
David Jones was English by birth, like Barrett herself, but had left Earth for Caliban in the company of his parents when only three years old. Tall and slim, Jones carried the long equine jaw and pale eyes of northern England. He spoke confidently although not often, and the safety of his ship and crew seemed his primary concern.
Johann Hess was another matter. While Hess was taller still than Jones, he was not slim but skinny, with bony white arms protruding from the sleeves of a baggy black pea-jacket. Hands like claws lay on the Wardroom table, and he stared at Indira Krishnavarna from rheumy yellow eyes. Most surprising of all was his age; he seemed at least sixty, perhaps older. A shock of white hair sprang outward in all directions from his narrow, high-templed head.
Hess had brought three of his ship’s officers with him to the meeting. Barrett had seen them before they’d trooped off with Jones’ second-in-command for a tour of the Cape Fear. While they seemed intelligent, they were a strangely feral-looking trio; Barrett had the impression they’d be hell on wheels in a boarding party.
“Well,” Hess said when Krishnavarna finished her spiel, “I trust my technicians will understand that better than I.” He smiled, baring oddly pointed, yellow teeth. “Captain Barrett, I congratulate you on a fine and intelligent technician you have serving aboard the Shade Tree. Are all of your crew so bright?”
“Pretty much,” Barrett replied.
“We’re back where we started,” Jones growled, dragging the discussion back to its original agenda. “Captain Barrett, your tech found five or more sensor tracks aimed at Fortune. We are to assume that the Grugell are moving again on Fortune, and while we’ve sent a hyperphone message to the Navy, they’re too far away at present to do anything about it. We find that, excepting two frigates near Fortune somewhere, we’re the only three armed ships in the area.”
“That’s right. The Robert Pritchard and the Giles Davies are at Fortune, as of three weeks ago at any rate,” Hess agreed.
“What are we going to do?”
“Set formation course for Fortune,” Barrett said. “We can coordinate our subspace entry and exits to coincide; the Navy does formation jumps all the time. I downloaded the programming they use when we were in the Tarbos spacedock two months ago, but I’ve never had reason to use it until now.”
“Can you cross-link the software over to us?”
“Yes,” Barrett replied, meeting Captain Hess’ eerie gaze.
“Then it seems we have a plan of action.”
“We’d best move quickly,” Jones added. “With only five or six ships, it won’t be an Occupation force, probably just a scouting expedition. We’ll want to move smartly.”
“Agreed. The Navy won’t be able to do much to hold Fortune with two frigates.”
To see more of Animal’s writing, visit his page at Crimson Dragon Publishing or Amazon.
Not very exciting this week.
WE WANT MOAR EXPLOSIONS!
💥
no sex; no violence; why are we paying for this?
In all seriousness, thanks for the story Animal. I love this series.
Michael Bay was unavailable.
I did get blinded by a JJ Abrams light flare.
I got better.
There needs to be politics to fit into the “thriller” genre.
No explosions, but a lot of movement.
This.
😕
I was going to take my new pew to the range this afternoon, but the rain’s supposed to come. I wouldn’t mind, but it’s outdoors and the rain would mess up the paper targets.
I could rent range time at the indoor range down the road, I suppose. Today’s just not been my day.
Speaking of new pews, Kimber announced a USPSA LO gun for $1400. So if you wanted a US made (by a company that was smart enough to GTFO of Yonkers) 2011, it will be on the market… soon(tm).
They had a purported prototype at nats. I found it to be more ergonomic than the 2011s I shot at RGN in UT, but it would need an extended right side safety to make me consider adding a new platform to my arsenal.
I’ve fucked around a bit with the Kimber 2011, and it would be among my first picks for a budget 2011.
I’d probably get an Aluminum grip module for it, though. Atlas, Masterpiece Arms, Cheely Custom, and Miller Precision all make good ones.
See, “spend 3+ cases of ammo to replace your grip module” is one of the reasons I stayed out of the 2011 game.
If you just spent ~27 cases of ammo on your gun, it would come with a metal grip frame and you wouldn’t have to worry! 😄😄😄
I would never buy another Kimber.
https://www.doublealpha.biz/us/ced-daa-uspsa-ipsc-waterproof-targets
I’ve tried these, and they work just dandy.
Or…you could shoot steel. If they allow shooting steel.
Today, I have what I have on hand. I don’t know what the club rules on steel in the pistol house are, all the times I’ve shot at steel has been on the back ranges.
Since this would be my first shoot with the optic on, I have to make sure it’s zeroed, which is easier on paper.
I’m mostly just giving you a hard time, UnCiv (although the waterproof targets are pretty awesome.) And yeah, trying to zero on steel is silly, unless it’s something like zeroing your rifle at 50 yards and then confirming on a steel plate at 200…
I know. I’m just a bit down today.
Cheer up!
You have us, don’t you?
*Ducks behind desk
I donno, RJ.
I donno.
We’re not all bad.
I’m not really bad. I’m just drawn that way.
We’re not all good either.
Those I have met are all great. The girls, however, are even nicer than the boys.
I’m not sure who ALL was instrumental in making the transition, kicking the other site to the curb and putting together a place where like minds, more or less, meet and enjoy the times.
All that have worked on the Glibs Historical Site can be proud and need to stand up and take a bow.
/Claps/whistles/cheers !
I’ve always wanted to see Dollywood. It’s 4.5 hours driving from the venue for next year’s Nats. In the direction I’d take to go home.
Damn, Brock’s Gap is a lot bigger than I remember!
Maybe it’s time to sign up for Nats again…there’s a real possibility that I might have hit GM by next October…
Bigger or smaller than Thigh Gap?
Kick ass!
I’m assuming that October will be less miserable than June. I’m planning on only doing one USPSA Nats next year, and trying to get into IPSC Nats instead.
AI sez:
In Cropwell, Alabama, the average temperature in June features a high of about 87°F (31°C) and a low of 68°F (20°C), while October features an average high of 76°F (24°C) and a low of 51°F (10°C).
June Averages
Average High: 87°F (31°C)Average Low: 68°F (20°C)
Conditions: Warm, humid, and frequently transitioning into typical summer thunderstorms.
October Averages
Average High: 76°F (24°C)Average Low: 51°F (10°C)
Conditions: Mild, pleasant, and generally one of the clearest and driest months of the year.
I’d really like to do IPSC Nats as well. Do you know where it’s being held?
Shit, never mind, it was right in front of my nose. Greater Pittsburgh Gun Club, same as this year and right in my backyard.
I lived fairly close and never went.
Naysayers pounce
A massive long-term oil deal expected to grant the U.S. access to a fifth of Venezuela’s crude reserves has energy experts and lawyers questioning its legality and eventual execution, while calling on both governments for contract transparency.
The unprecedented pact, announced by U.S. President Donald Trump on Friday and confirmed by Venezuela’s interim President Delcy Rodriguez, will put a whopping 65 billion barrels of recoverable oil under Washington’s control, a volume that surpasses total U.S. proved oil reserves of 46 billion barrels.
——-
“If the goal was to try to reduce the risk of investing in Venezuela, the United States might be doing the exact opposite with this transaction: further weakening the country’s already fragile institutional framework,” said Luisa Palacios, adjunct senior research scholar at Columbia University’s Center on Global Energy Policy.
According to Venezuelan interim President Rodriguez, the pact will last at least 25 years, in line with the OPEC country’s Hydrocarbons Law, securing $100 billion in investment and $209.3 billion in royalties and taxes, which would leave some $19 in Venezuela’s hands from each barrel produced.
Experts have expressed doubts over the deal’s legality, especially since the U.S., not Venezuela, is set to select the model and companies to operate the fields.
Pillage and rape.
Basically, how the Venezuelan Oil Industry was originally built, before that first commie ass-hat nationalized all the industry, sending the country into a slow death spiral.
Let me guess Luisa Palacios favors nationalization by a communist regime as the superior model.
One of my high school buddies went the college frat route and got a hookup job working as a geologist down there when the commies took over.
No idea if he’s even alive at this point but I’d like to hear that story.
Fucked up the link. It’ll give Ted’S something to gripe about.
(reuters)
So apparently trying to buy an apple gift card through amazon is a mistake. My attempt to give my God Daughter a birthday present has gotten me locked out of my amazon accounts including my kindle due to “suspicious” activity. I get that apple gift cards are the scammer currency du jour, but if you are going to offer them for sale simply trying to purchase one, from my home desktop, should probably not trigger a full lockdown…
I had my own tech support issue today. The Mrs. got a tiny url link from her aunt about some baby shower and suddenly she got popups about Chrome “encrypting” all her data. I got past it with a virus scan and by clearing browsing data, it was just some browser malware. She probably just mistyped the url but lesson learned.
I’ve got an ‘invitation’ yesterday to some supposed event in my email that was an executable prompt. Totally malware, it even had instructions to open it on a windows computer using chrome.
Probably worked on a couple million 65 year old ladies.
Amazing how in 2026 we’re still dealing with 2006 problems.
My son is coming in a couple days. He can clean my machine out or up, whichever works. He’ll probably demand I get a new one.
My wife got this. Luckily, she had just seen a warning about it so she didnt click.
It seems like the old trick of hijacking your contact list is back. Hers came from a friend she hasn’t seen in several years. I assume the friend made the mistake of clicking on it.
Reason found a unique nut-punch…. instead of puppycide, we have a murdered donkey. They had to shoot it after they approached it in its pasture and it ran up on them … a taser didnt work. So, ya gotta shoot it. Bizarre.
And yet, this is also shockingly familiar. Officers names are being withheld. Because of course they are. Perhaps we will see the body cam footage in 2029.
https://reason.com/2026/08/31/cops-in-polk-county-georgia-fatally-shoot-petting-zoo-donkey/
State cops in Idaho years ago responded to a car crash on Hwy 95 that hit a guys bull.
The owner came out with a gun to finish it off after the cops (one originally from CA) couldn’t kill it with their 9mms so they shot him too.
Guys wife had a heart attack on scene and the cops wouldn’t let anyone render aid to her.
Of course there were no repercussions to the cops.
That’s fucking ridiculous. The mobile butcher would put down steers with a .22 when I was a kid.
I am having a “back in my day” moment listening to you guys talking about buying targets for shooting.
We never bought targets (back in my day). Tin cans, logs, etc… those were our targets. The best “range” was when I lived in Birmingham during grad school. There was an illegal dump with embankment all around. Perfect for shooting. Old appliances, furniture, bottles and cans… and some fairly large logs cut to 4 foot lengths, for some odd reason.
A fairly large pond encouraged distance shooting.
Nobody ever said “I wish we had some store bought targets.”
Of course, most of our free targets were way smaller than a paper target. The red clay made the best spotting backdrop (in dry weather). Easy to see misses.
Shooting coke cans at 50 yards with a little .22 is all the fun.
Now… get off my lawn?
I Generate 24” diameter metal barrel lids as a result of work.
I’ll draw targets on them with a sharpie sometimes.