by Peter Grant
Steve waited as the spacers passed him to log themselves aboard at the counter. Within a few moments the baggage system delivered his trunks, suitcase and carryall. He lifted the smaller trunk into its recess on the lid of the larger, wheeled unit, activated the tracking unit on his belt, picked up his carryall and started for the counter, pulling the wheeled suitcase behind him. The lower trunk’s electric motor hummed as it followed him, homing on his tracking unit.
A Petty Officer Second Class sat behind the counter. She rose to her feet and braced to attention as he approached, her eyes flickering to the single silver bar on the epaulettes of his Number Two uniform. Steve returned the courtesy as he stopped in front of her, glancing at her nametag.
“Good afternoon, PO Anderson. Ensign Steve Maxwell, come aboard to join.” He fumbled in his trouser pocket, then handed her his order chip.
“Good afternoon, Sir. We’ve been expecting you. Welcome aboard.”
She inserted the chip in her terminal and swiftly scanned the summary page. “All in order, Sir. I’ll forward a copy to the Ship’s Office.” She tapped instructions into her terminal, then removed the chip and returned it to him. “The Commanding Officer, Commander Mars, is away from the ship at present. The Executive Officer, Lieutenant–Commander Kilian, has requested that you report to his office as soon as you arrive, Sir. I’ll have a Spacer escort you there, while another of my work party takes your dunnage to your cabin.”
~ ~ ~
The administrative offices were on the port side, and the command offices to starboard, in the forward third of the ship, ahead of her six missile cells. The command alcove was a short corridor at right angles to the ship’s main passage. A door standing ajar on its starboard side bore the legend ‘Executive Officer’, and beyond it another, closed door was labeled ‘Conference Room’. On the port side, a Marine sentry stood guard before another closed door marked ‘Commanding Officer’. He braced to attention on seeing Steve, but didn’t speak.
Steve returned his courtesy and nodded to him, trying to suppress the butterflies in his stomach. His first meeting with the Exec would be critical. In terms of regular contact with them and supervising their execution of their duties and responsibilities, the Exec was the day–to–day boss of Achilles’ officers, far more so than the Commanding Officer. If Steve established a good working relationship with him, his life would be far easier. If he didn’t, his assignment to Achilles would be at best unpleasant, at worst unendurable.
He knocked at the open door. A voice inside called, “Enter!” He stepped inside, snapping to attention before the desk.
“Ensign Maxwell reports to the Executive Officer as ordered, Sir!”
“Welcome aboard, Ensign.” Lieutenant–Commander Kilian stood, offering his hand. “Your orders, please?”
“Here, Sir.” Steve shook his hand, then took his order chip from his pocket once more and handed it over.
“Thank you. Take a seat.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
Steve sat down, trying to take in the Exec’s appearance without appearing to stare. He was a tall, thin man, looking to be in his mid–thirties, wearing khaki working dress. A single ringed planet denoting his rank was pinned to each side of his open collar. His hair was close–cropped, as was that of all Spacers and Marines so as to fit into their spacesuit or armor helmets. A faded white scar ran from his left ear to the corner of his mouth, and Steve couldn’t help wondering why he’d never had it removed. Cosmetic surgery could have dealt with it with no trouble at all, particularly in its early stages. His face was tired, lined.
Kilian plugged his order chip into his terminal and scrolled rapidly through its contents, nodding in satisfaction. “All in order. How much do you know about our ship, our Division and our mission, Ensign?”
“Not very much, Sir; just that Achilles is the flagship of the Twenty–Third Destroyer Division, comprising four newly–refurbished Hero class ships. The Division’s just finished working up, and is on its way to the Midrash Sector for anti–piracy, anti–smuggling and commerce protection duties. I’ve been running so hard to get here that I haven’t had time to find out more, Sir.”
Kilian grinned. “I’m told you applied for our vacancy so fast, and shipped out so quickly, that the staff at the School of Navigation and Tactics could hardly see you for dust! Their Exec was rather amused.”
Steve had to laugh at the memory. “Sir, my class was about to graduate, but I had no guarantee of an interesting assignment. I know the Bureau of Personnel talked to the School about sending eight of our class to the Second Battle Division in the Vesta Sector. That would mean two years as a dogsbody aboard a battleship, at the bottom of the heap among eighty commissioned and warrant officers, doing the dirty jobs no one else wanted and having very little real responsibility. The odds were pretty good that at least half of the top ten graduates of our class would be assigned there, and I was getting worried.
“I happened to be in the Admin office when BuPers’ urgent request arrived, so I was the first of our graduating class to hear about it. I was even more interested to hear you were going to the Midrash Sector, because my Marine roommate from OCS is serving there — he and I became very good friends during the course. I applied right away, even before your vacancy hit the school network. Since my application was the first received, and I had all the skills you were looking for, and because BuPers had assigned your requirement a higher priority than BatDiv2’s, the Exec granted my request. The School graduated me a day early, to allow me to ship out at once.”
“I’m very grateful they did.” Kilian’s voice was very serious. “Your combination of qualifications, skills and experience is scarce. Graduating among the top five in your class is pretty good in itself, but even more important from my point of view is that you’ve had more enlisted experience than most junior officers. That means you’ll need less hand–holding than usual to find your feet aboard ship. That’s very good news for us, because we don’t have enough officers to spare for that. I’ll try to see you as often as possible for Junior Officer Development sessions, but even that’s going to be difficult sometimes.”
Steve nodded. “I understand, Sir. Er… if it’s not out of place for me to ask, Sir, why are we so short of officers?”
Kilian grimaced. “Part of it’s the perennial shortage — there are never enough qualified bodies to fill all available slots. Most ships are up to ten per cent below their authorized officer complement. Another factor is that we commissioned and worked up in haste, thanks to the urgency of the Midrash Sector’s requirement. We didn’t have time to fill our personnel roster in the usual way — we had to rely on BuPers to get us anyone who was available at short notice. They did very well for us, all things considered, but they can’t work miracles.
“To cap it all, we were supposed to get two Junior Lieutenants from a depot ship inbound from the Alcestis sector. Unfortunately, a cargo shuttle collided with her before departure. She’s been delayed to repair her damage, which means she won’t reach Lancaster until after we’ve departed for Midrash. She couldn’t send the officers on ahead to join us, because she needs their services as watchkeepers to get here. BuPers says they’ll send them on to us, but you know as well as I do that until they’re safely aboard, there’s always the risk that another ship with an equal shortage of officers may snaffle them.
“Until your arrival, we had only ten out of our authorized fifteen commissioned officers. That’s why BuPers gave our urgent request for at least one more qualified junior officer such a high priority, and circulated it so quickly.”
Steve nodded. “I see, Sir, but we’re still four officers short. Can we afford that?”
“No, we can’t, so we’ll have to work around it. We’re getting a couple of extra warrant officers to fill commissioned slots. Also, we’ve offered free passage to Midrash to two watch–qualified officers of their System Patrol service, who were training on Lancaster. They’ll come aboard tomorrow. In exchange for their
passage they’ll assist us with watch–keeping duties. I’ll stand one watch each day on the outward passage, to take up some of the slack while everyone settles into their responsibilities.”
Steve blinked in surprise. Executive and Commanding Officers were normally exempt from watch–keeping duties, to allow them to concentrate on their other duties. A ship had to be very short–handed before her Exec would suspend that long–standing practice.
“When we reach Midrash,” Kilian continued, “we’ll ask for officers from the System Patrols of Commonwealth planets in the Sector to volunteer to serve with us for short–term assignments — three to six months. That’ll give them and their parent services useful experience in working with the Fleet, and hopefully give us some of the warm bodies we need. Captain Hutchinson, our Division’s Commanding Officer, sent a signal to Midrash on last week’s communications frigate, asking Sector HQ to contact local System Patrols about that.
“As an Ensign you can’t serve as Officer of the Deck, but you can be Assistant OOD. You’ve completed the Deck Officer course, so you already have all the theory, and you’ve been OOD under supervision in a training vessel. You’ll need to familiarize yourself with the ship before we certify you as a watch–keeping officer. I’ll put you on watch with me at first, so we can use some of the slack time for Junior Officer Development. That’ll make it easier for both of us. As soon as you’re promoted to Junior Lieutenant, you’ll join our OOD roster. That won’t be long now, right?”
“No, Sir. I’ve got fifteen months seniority in grade as an O–1, and my record’s good, so I’m due to get my second bar in the next biannual promotion signal.”
“Good. That’ll take effect three months from now. Apart from watch–keeping duties, you’ll have several assignments, as do we all. You’ll be our Assistant Navigating Officer under Senior Lieutenant Ellis, and I’m making you our Flight Operations Officer as well. That’s normally a Senior Lieutenant’s responsibility, but since we don’t have a more senior officer to spare, you’ll just have to grow into the job. Your extensive piloting experience and current licenses will help there. Flight Ops falls under our Engineer Officer, Lieutenant–Commander Ergal, so you’ll spend a lot of time in his department. You’ll also be in charge of the commissary, and supervise one of our crew berthing compartments.”
“Aye aye, Sir. I can see I’m going to have trouble finding time even to breathe, let alone eat, drink and sleep!”
“We all will. We can at least hope to get some more officers at Midrash, to spread the load more evenly. You can take comfort in the fact that you’ve already encountered every one of your responsibilities during your enlisted service. You’ve also been thoroughly trained as a junior officer. It’s not as if you’re coming at any of them cold.”
“No, Sir.”
Steve knew he sounded a little dubious, and Kilian noticed. “I suppose the most important lesson you need to learn is that you can’t carry the whole world on your shoulders,” he pointed out. “That’s as true for senior officers as it is for junior! Commander Mars and I won’t be unreasonable, and we’ll make allowances for our personnel shortage and the consequent overload of work on all our officers. Nevertheless, we do expect you to learn to cope. That’s part of what Junior Officer Development is all about. You’ve already been trained in matters of leadership, command, authority and responsibility. Now it’s time to apply that training.”
“I understand, Sir. I’ll do my best.”
“Good. Let me tell you about our mission. The Division’s being sent to the Midrash Sector to help deal with an increase in smuggling and piracy. We’ll begin by splitting up once we get there, with each destroyer going to a different planet on three–month assignments. She’ll work with its System Patrol on boarding and search operations, with both sides learning from each other. On the way to and from each planet, each ship will check out an unclaimed star or two, looking for any evidence of pirate or smuggling bases among its planets and asteroids.
“Our planetary missions will be very important. We tend to think of ourselves as ‘THE Fleet’, and fall into the trap of thinking we know it all. We don’t, of course. Smaller, less prestigious local forces often come up with very ingenious solutions to problems they’ve encountered. We need to learn those things from them, as well as teach them our standard procedures. We’ll rendezvous at Midrash every three months to share lessons learned and compile them for distribution, first within the Sector, then to the Fleet as a whole. Once we’ve visited all the planets in the Sector, we’ll see what else the Sector Admiral has in store for us.
“As you can imagine, all those tasks will involve a lot of small craft operations. To enable us to cope with that, our armament’s been reconfigured. Our midships missile cells have been replaced with two assault shuttle pods.”
Steve frowned. “I’ve heard a little about them, Sir, but I thought they weren’t yet operational. I’ve never come across them before.”
“Neither had we, until this Division was formed. Let me give you a little background. Our assault transports are the size of battleships — over half a million tons. They carry a full battalion of armored Marines and their assault shuttles, supporting units and their equipment, and everything else they need to operate independently. Trouble is, they’re far too big, and much too expensive to operate, to use for platoon– or company–size training missions to our member planets, or small raids on minor targets like pirate bases. In the past we’ve sent destroyers and cruisers to do that, since every destroyer carries a platoon of Marines, and cruisers carry two. Trouble is, destroyers don’t carry assault shuttles, and cruisers have only two of them. Also, warships can’t always be spared for such missions.
“To solve that problem, the Fleet’s converting a couple of dozen old River class destroyers into what it calls ‘light assault transports’. Their capital cost is minimal, since the hulls are long since bought and paid for, and their conversion cost isn’t too high. Their operating costs will be a fraction of the much larger assault transports. Each will carry up to a company of Marines and up to eight assault shuttles. Six of them will be in shuttle pods, replacing all six missile cells one–for–one, and the remaining two will use the ship’s docking bay. There’s a lot more to the conversion, but we don’t have time to go into it now.
“Someone had the bright idea of building a few shuttle pods to fit Hero class destroyers, to help with missions like ours. Our missile cells are bigger than those of the old Rivers, of course, but that’s just a matter of putting a larger, reshaped external shell around the pods and re–routing their connections to the ship’s systems. The middle two missile cell bays of existing Hero class destroyers will be modified to accept them during routine refurbishments, and new construction will have that capability built in from the start. We’ll be the first to use them on operations, even before the new light assault transports come online, so a lot of eyes will be upon us. In Achilles’ case, they’ll be on you in particular, because both shuttles and their pods will fall under Flight Ops; and since we’re the Division flagship, our other three ships will be watching us closely, to learn from our — your — shuttle operations.” He grinned evilly.
Steve blinked again. “Oh! Thank you, Sir… I think.”
“Not to worry. Yes, it’s another load on your back, but each shuttle comes with its own pilot and weapons systems operator, who’ll handle its day–to–day requirements, so it won’t be too bad. The Engineering Department will maintain them and their pods, of course.
“Twelve of our Marines — a full section, comprising three four–person fire teams — will be assigned to each shuttle’s boarding and search party. As Flight Ops Officer, you’ll designate up to twelve spacers to join each party. Talk to our Chief of the Ship, Senior Chief Luculle, about that. You’ll want experienced people who can sniff out hiding places and know where smuggled goods are likely to be concealed. You’ll command one shuttle during boarding and search operations. Our Marine platoon comm
ander, First Lieutenant Garcia, will command the other.”
“Understood, Sir. What about our reduced missile armament, Sir? What if we have to fight a pirate?”
“Most pirates have no more than a dozen missile tubes, jury–rigged aboard a captured freighter or mining vessel. They don’t pose a serious threat to a warship like Achilles, so we’re carrying a special mix of main battery weapons for this operation. Each of our four remaining cells contains eight missiles with bomb–pumped lasers, two with nuclear blast warheads, six with electromagnetic pulse devices to disable suspect ships if necessary, and four penetration aids in case we run into something with good electronic defenses, unlikely though that is. Each cell also has its usual twenty defensive missiles, of course. We should have more than enough firepower to deal with any pirates we encounter, even without two of our six missile cells.”
“I see, Sir.”
“Very well.” Kilian stood, and Steve rose with him. “Commander Mars is visiting the Bureau of Intelligence planetside with Captain Hutchinson, to discuss the latest information from Midrash Sector about their piracy and smuggling problems. They suspect there’s a link between the two crimes, but they haven’t been able to prove that. Part of our job will be to look for evidence of it. She’ll return from BuIntel tomorrow, at which time you’ll present yourself to her — Number One uniform, of course, with medals.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
“Good.” The Exec glanced at a bulkhead clock. “You’ve got two hours before supper, so unpack your gear and stow your luggage, then change into working uniform. I’ll see you in the Wardroom at eighteen.”
