by David Tatum
Silence once more fell down on the group as they continued to wait in line. Schubert was, again, the one to break the ice. “Man, this waiting is boring.”
“War is ninety percent boredom, nine percent fear, and one percent adrenaline,” Beccera said. “Also known as the principle of ‘hurry up and wait.’”
“This isn’t a war,” Lauren snorted, trying to get in on the conversation. “This is a game.”
“I thought it was both,” Chris quipped.
“But this is neither war nor a game,” Schubert pointed out, chuckling. “This is waiting in line to get off the shuttle.”
“Excuse me, sir?” A seaman addressed the Colonel from the hatch a few moments later. “You’re next. Follow me, please, sir.”
Things seemed to go much quicker after that.. Beccera had his own job to take care of, but the others waited around to compare notes before heading off.
“So,” Chris said. “Where did they place you?”
“Deck 7, Cabin 4, Bunk 5,” Rachel said. “I hear the rooms on this transport house eight people each.”
“That would make sense,” Schubert sighed. “Deck 7, Cabin 4, Bunk 8.”
Chris chuckled. “Deck 7, Cabin 4, Bunk 6. Looks like we’ll all be roomies until the Chihuahua’s far enough along in her renovations to house us.”
“Heaven help me,” Rachel said, rolling her eyes.
Chris grinned. “You won’t have to worry about me. I’ll be too busy conducting those renovations to get into too many arguments with you. You’re safe.”
“I wonder if we’ll know anyone else in our cabin,” Schubert mused.
“Well, they’re trying to keep the ships’ companies together as much as possible,” Rachel said. “So we’ll probably know at least a few of them.”
“Why don’t we go down to our cabin and find out?” Chris suggested, gesturing to a nearby bank of elevators.
The elevator came, and the trio got on. As they left, a chime sounded, and a businesslike voice followed. “Shuttle Flight 970 arriving in Port 3. Commander Barbara Meier, Captain of the Natsugumo, is aboard. Honor guard, please report to Port 3.”
——————————
There were several people in the meeting that the Academy officers had yet to meet when they arrived. They started to introduce themselves when Burkhard entered with one more guest. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Let’s get started, shall we?” There were nods of agreement around the table, and he smiled grimly. “First, let me introduce Cadet Ensign Hector Karajan. He’s the liaison officer Acting-Commodore Green assigned to us for the refit of the Chihuahua. Normally, he’ll be stationed aboard the flagship, but I asked him to come here today to explain the specific limitations we have had placed on us.”
Karajan coughed uncomfortably. “Yes... Captain Green has set a variety of priorities to the refit. He has noted that we will only have three tenders for the duration of the refit period, and just one tender once the Wargame begins. For this reason, no vessels smaller than a heavy cruiser will be permitted time in one of the tenders.”
The officer who had introduced himself as the Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Jacques Rappaport, didn’t react verbally. Instead, he pulled out his hand comp and started typing something furiously. Rachel, sitting next to him, glanced at the screen curiously. He was doing some math, but she couldn’t determine its significance.
“What!” exclaimed Robert Orff. “But without access to a tender or to a properly equipped Navy yard, how are we supposed to make repairs?”
“That’s your problem, I’m afraid,” Karajan said apologetically. “Commodore Green feels that it is more important to restore the battleships and heavy cruisers to their utmost, maximizing our firepower as best as he can.”
Burkhard raised a hand, forestalling further protests. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, let’s not shoot the messenger. Mr. Karajan is just relaying our orders.”
“Thank you, sir,” Karajan sighed, wiping his brow nervously. “There is more, I’m afraid. The Commodore also is going to requisition all but one of your ship’s work shuttles for the same reason. He may return them to you one week prior to the commencement of the Wargame, but until then he feels he needs to use them if he wishes to get his battleships sufficiently operable. I am aware that this cuts your capability for working on external repairs in half during that two week period, but anything I or my fellow liaisons said was ignored.”
Rappaport seemed unconcerned, still typing furiously, but Orff was reddening in anger. The first officer snapped, “And has the ‘Commodore’ made any other rules to sabotage our attempts to restore the Chihuahua?”
Karajan swallowed. “Well, uh... he has said that any equipment issued in the initial supply dispersal will have to be requisitioned directly from him.”
Murmurs broke out around the table. Burkhard nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Karajan. You may go now.”
Karajan breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. And I’m really sorry about all this.” he apologized, rushing out of the room.
“Well,” Burkhard began. “It seems to me we’re being screwed over by our own Commodore. From what I understand, so are all of the other Academy corvettes and frigates. Nevertheless, we must get the Chihuahua fully operational in three weeks, and all we’ll have to do it with is whatever spare parts our Commodore decides to grace us with.”
“Actually,” Rappaport said, studying the numbers on his hand comp. “As long as we have at least one shuttle, we should be fine. In fact, I think we can be done with most of the work by the time we get back our second work shuttle.”
Burkhard merely looked at him, intrigued. “How do you propose to do that, Mr. Rappaport?”
“There’s quite a bit of work engineers normally do that don’t necessarily require trained engineers,” Rappaport explained. “Demolition, swapping malfunctioning plug-in components, simple computer work, things like that. We’ve got plenty of unskilled labor to deal with things like that. We’ll have to renovate things from the inside wherever possible...” He paused, typing in a few more calculations. “We’ll be gutting much of the internal workings – if we can restore the environmental systems quickly enough, getting the rest of the crew to do that will really speed things along.”
“If we’re going that far with the refit, it might give us an opportunity to make some improvements I’ve been considering,” Chris interjected.
Rappaport turned to look at him questioningly.
“Sorry, I don’t think we’ve had a chance to be introduced yet. I’m Cadet Lt. Desaix, your deputy.” Rachel had to hold back a sigh – Chris was forgetting to call his superiors ‘sir’ again.
“What did you have in mind, Mr. Desaix?” Burkhard asked.
Chris pulled out his own hand-comp. Rachel saw him pull up several schematics. “Well, if we eliminate the primary missile storage space entirely, we could fit in a second, more advanced power plant like a cold fusion reactor. That would give us a serious boost of engine power, with little sacrificed – missiles are never used in ship-to-ship combat, so we won’t miss them. Even if you want to use them, we should still be able to keep a round or two stored in the expense magazine.”
“And how do you plan to add the hydrogen collector?” Rappaport asked. Even Rachel knew that the hydrogen collectors required for any cold-fusion plant had to be mounted externally to work.
Chris shrugged. “Well, there we’d probably have to use the work shuttles, which might affect your schedule, but all we need to do is mount it to the backbone of the tower for the Hyperspatial Sensor Array – we can use the existing conduits.”
Lieutenant Rappaport frowned. “Do you mind if I see your figures?” Chris gestured to the Chief Engineer’s hand comp, and Rappaport nodded as Chris brought up a file from the network. “Hmm... this could work. Maybe. In fact, with the added power a cold fusion system is likely to be able to produce, I may be able to add a few other power-heavy things to improve our speed and maneuverability.
Let’s get together after we finish the initial survey of the ship and work out some blueprints.”
Burkhard looked subtly relieved. “Well, looks like our refit’s in good hands.”
“One problem is we may require parts that Commodore Green doesn’t see fit to give us,” Rappaport warned.
Burkhard nodded. “Just give me a requisition list. We’ll hold off on that part of the refit until I’m able to push our special requests through, if possible.”
“Will do,” Rappaport said.
“Good,” Burkhard said. “Okay, next order of business: Interim assignments.” He turned to Robert Orff. “Cadet Commander Orff, I’m going to ask you to supervise the engineers. I know how people like Lieutenant Rappaport and Mr. Desaix can get when they aren’t given a reality check for practicality from a non-engineer.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Orff said.
“Cadet Lieutenant Commander Katz,” he said, making Rachel sit at attention. She couldn’t afford to peak at her two neighboring engineers hand-comps while the Captain was addressing her. “I’m going to give you an assignment that normally would be the job of our logistics officer. Unfortunately, I’m going to need the services of our assigned logistics officer, Cadet Ensign Polk, to try and get the equipment we’ll need to get the ship operable, so you will be handling his duties until he is able to return to his regular post.”
“I have no problem with that, sir,” Rachel said.
“I didn’t think you would. Once our engineers have provided you with definitive statistics for the number and size of our post-refit crew cabins, your first priority will be to assign the housing. You get to decide where we all sleep and who we sleep with. Don’t abuse that authority.” There was a twinkle in Burkhard’s eye as he made that last admonition.
“Simple enough to do, sir,” Rachel said, suppressing a laugh.
“Good. Drew, I’m going to arrange for you to meet with some of the other ships’ Marine officers to get a crash course in the differences between Marine service and Army service. I suspect you’ll find these meetings useful.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Thank you, sir,” Beccera replied.
“That’s Conrad to you, Drew. Next, Ms. Weber and Mr. Schubert. You two will trade off as the pilots for our work shuttle. Decide between the both of you how you will split the shifts.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Schubert said. “We’ll decide by coin toss.”
“I’ll need a coin, sir,” Weber said, grinning at her fellow pilot.
“I’ll get you one,” Burkhard said, carefully not letting any amusement show on his face. “Now... the rest of you are going to be working with the engineers until we get the Chihuahua more or less squared away. Does anyone have any questions?” No-one said anything. “Good. Meeting’s adjourned. I don’t plan to have another one until the Engineering team can release some of the rest of the crew for other projects. Dismissed.”
The assembly quickly scattered, and Schubert, Rachel, and Chris started making their way up to their room. A thought occurred to Rachel that must have left a puzzled expression on her face even as they boarded the elevator.
“What’s wrong, Rache?” Chris asked, concerned.
“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m fine. I’m just wondering... how in the world did Captain Burkhard know who we were?”
“What are you talking about?” Schubert asked.
“How did he know who we were? He knew who I was without even asking. He knew who you were. Hell, he even knew who Yannis was... but none of us, as far as I know, have ever met him before,” she pointed out.
“He probably just looked at our personnel records,” Chris suggested.
“Maybe, but I don’t think that’s it. I’ve seen personnel records before, in my job as the Senior Officer of our dorm room. If the records he has are anything like the records I had to deal with, he doesn’t have images of us. They aren’t supposed to use image files of Academy students until their graduation.”
Schubert frowned. “Hmm... that’s true. At least, that’s what I was told in my EOD briefing when I entered the Academy.”
Chris shrugged. “They probably have our images stored somewhere, even if they aren’t included with our personnel records.”
“Anyone who uses the Macrosim Center must create an ID Profile that includes imaging verification,” Rachel recalled. “But I didn’t authorize the release of my picture, and that would only work for Chris and I.”
“Actually,” Schubert said. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Oh?” Chris and Rachel chorused.
“Yeah. What if came to the party last night?”
Rachel frowned. “But Robert—”
“Was told that he couldn’t make it. But who’s to say that’s the truth?” Schubert smirked. “There were a lot of people at that party I didn’t recognize. After all, it wasn’t just open to us – our friends and family were also welcome to attend. What if he disguised himself as one of them, just to observe us all?”
“That... might be true,” Chris mused. “The only way to know for certain is to ask him.”
“How will we do that?” Rachel asked. “He disappeared from that meeting pretty quickly, and he just told us he’s not going to call any more meetings any time soon.”
Chris shrugged. “So? We can comm him.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “I know you’re still pretty weak on proper protocol, but I thought you knew better than to just comm your Captain with something this trivial!”
Chris laughed. “Yeah, even I know better than that. But I’m also under orders to give our Captain a message from Admiral McCaffrey... and I haven’t had a chance to do that yet.”
——————————
Chris was the first one into the room, and noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing, that is, except the presence of his other roommates. There were still two empty bunks, but he, Schubert, and Rachel had discovered that those two bunks were to be filled with their friends from the party the night before, Weber and Flint. He didn’t recognize the newcomers, though.
“Hello,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Lt. Cadet Chris Desaix, and you are?”
The three men looked at each other uncomfortably, then the nearest one looked back at the hand and took it gingerly. “Hi. I’m...” his voice trailed off.
“Do I know you three from somewhere?” Schubert said as he came into the room, followed by Rachel. “I could swear I’ve seen you before.”
Then Weber and Flint came into the room. The trio’s eyes immediately went from discomfort to raw, passionate hatred.
“Hey!” Flint snarled. “What are you doing here?”
“Who are they?” Rachel asked, confused. Chris, who had since retrieved his hand, was looking just as confused.
“They’re the guys from yesterday! The ones who tried to mug Wolfie!” Weber snarled.
“Damn straight, we are,” the lead man growled back. “The asshole deserves it, too, for putting Farmburg in the hospital.”
Chris sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. “Well, this is going to be awkward.”
CHAPTER VII
Sol System, Earth Alliance Naval Headquarters, Admiralty Building
Acting-Commodore John Green walked into the Admiralty office’s reception. His shuttle and transport were being delayed for this meeting. He wasn’t exactly happy about it – most of the transports for the Wargame had already left, but his had to remain behind just for an interview with the Records and Logistics people. Why Admiral Mumford had insisted he attend this meeting Green would never know. Already handicapped by the poor quality of the ships he was being given, Green felt he really didn’t need the added problem of arriving to his command late.
“Ah, Commodore Green,” a lieutenant greeted him, holding out her hand.
Green took it. He’d been hesitating, but hearing this woman refer to him by his brevet rank dispelled any reluctance. As annoyed as he was at having to be at this meeting, he
found that he liked this woman. “You have me at a disadvantage, Lieutenant.”
“Maia Rehnquist, sir. Please, have a seat. Commodore Haas will see you in a moment.”
Wasn’t he supposed to be waiting for me? Why do I have to wait for him? And why am I here, anyway? Green wondered, sighing. With as much politeness as he could muster, he gave the aide a “Thank you” and sat down on a plushy couch.
Green found the office rather drab. The only thing of real interest was a display showing the latest Navy list – which was about to be replaced, if he remembered correctly. He checked it out and shook his head. He knew, as most of the higher-ranked Naval officers did, that the Navy was pathetically undersized for the amount of territory they had to defend, even though it was the largest Navy in the known universe.
It was hoped that, with the completion of the Epsilon Eridani Naval Station, they would be able to change that. Soon, entire new squadrons would be built in a matter of months. If the new construction yard was able to build ships as fast as the builders had claimed, it wouldn’t be too long before the fleet could double its strength. Which meant twice as many flag officers would be needed, and Green was determined to be one of them. He had the political support, and this command would give him the command experience required for a Commodore’s commission. If he really embarrassed himself on this command, though, he might blow his chance for fleet duty.
Green knew some of the higher ups didn’t particularly respect his abilities. They would latch onto any excuse to prevent his promotion. He knew his own weaknesses all too well: He was aware that he was not the best of tacticians, and he didn’t relate well with others – many felt he was too arrogant for his own good. He didn’t care about being thought of as arrogant – many famous military officers from the past were known as arrogant.
Tactics, however, were a problem. He understood the politics and diplomacy needed for a naval officer in a way few others did, but he was not the best of captains. The tactical situation of the Wargame didn’t lend itself to politics or diplomacy, however. Still, Green doubted even the best tactician in the fleet could do much with the Academy’s overwhelming technical disadvantage. The fleet that his outmoded Sirius class battleships were going up against was powerful enough to match any current concentration of warships in the Earth Alliance, save Home Fleet. His fleet, on the other hand, would struggle to deal with any modern navy’s fleets. Knowing he was not a brilliant tactician, Green intended to use strategies straight out of the textbooks from his days in the Academy. He’d be crushed, but using those tactics he could not be blamed when he lost the ‘war.’ To follow through on that plan, though, he would desperately need to get his battleships commissioned before hostilities commenced.
