by Blaze Ward
“So, Lagunov,” Jessica began, “how ready is the flight wing going to be?”
Pilots, by their nature, tended to be cocky, arrogant, and full of themselves. Bitter Kitten was none of that, as six hours of close contact had revealed. Instead, she was a skinny brunette of average height who spoke with quiet care and precision instead of bravado and bluster. Jessica wasn’t sure what to make of her.
“Sharp,” she replied, “but not too sharp. Commander Kwok had us the range at Simeon every six or eight months. Plus regular piracy patrols.”
“Ever catch any?” Jessica asked, looking at both the pilot and her new Executive Officer, deep in his own mug of tea.
Bitter Kitten shrugged and sipped at a glass of port. “Rarely. Kwok would come out at a safe distance, launch the birds, and then let us chase them. Usually, they had enough time to get away. We were rarely cleared to launch the kind of missiles that could run them down and scrag them before they could jump.”
“So,” Jessica turned to Jež, “standard fleet carrier tactics?”
He shrugged in turn. “The commander was very by–the–book on those sorts of things. Plus he was…well–bred.”
Jessica nodded. “One of the Noble Lords, rather than a Fighting Lord?”
“One could phrase it that way, commander,” he replied diplomatically.
Jessica took a drink to let the air simmer. She nodded to herself and fixed each of them with a look of irritation.
“I imagine things will be changing significantly around here, then. Jež, Lagunov, our orders are to rattle cages out here in the hinterlands. To do that, we’re going to have to act like a warship in a warzone, and not an oversized Revenue Cutter on patrol. Everything I’ve heard about this ship suggests she could be among the best in the fleet, so I’m going to work the rest of you almost as hard as I work myself, and see what we can become. Questions?”
“Am I allowed to gossip about what I’ve heard, commander?” Bitter Kitten murmured.
Jessica’s smile lit up. “Absolutely. I asked you here so I could pick your brain and see things that would not necessarily bubble up from the lower decks. A lot of Command Centurions say they have an open door. Few of them actually exercise it. Just remember that you’ll be signing your name when you walk through that door. Most of the time, we will outrun the news of what we’re doing.”
“Understood, sir,” the pilot nodded at her. She pushed back from the table with an accidental burp. “Excuse me. Since I’m off duty for a while, I’m going to go sleep for twelve hours. That food was lovely, sir. Thank you.”
Jessica watched her stick her head into the kitchen to thank the staff before disappearing into the hallway.
She turned to see Jež giving her a strange look. “Yes?”
“Nothing,” he said after a moment.
“Ask now,” she replied. “When we leave here, you’ll be scoring the exercise and preparing to turn back into the Executive Officer.”
“Are you really as hard and tough and good as they say?”
Jessica blinked. Well, she had asked for it.
She fixed him with a stern look. He didn’t blush or blink. Good.
“Yes,” she said simply. “Denis, I believe I could win this war if given the chance. Not just push the Fribourgers back to where they started, but actually design the strategies and logistics to defeat them. First Lord sent me out here to start a war. In his words, to set the frontier on fire and make them dedicate whole fleets and committees to stopping me.”
She took a sip and gauged his reaction.
He nodded back at her.
So far, so good.
“Auberon is a tool. The Flight Wing is a tool. This crew is a tool. They are all good ones, and you don’t blunt a saber by mashing it against a rock. However, they are tools. They will get honed by use. Sharpened. Probably dinged and dented. Because we are going to go do something nobody has ever imagined. This little strike carrier is going to frighten entire fleets of Imperial ships. I would like to camp in orbit about St. Legier and say hello, one of these days.”
She stopped to take a breath. Denis nodded at her.
“How can I serve?” he asked simply.
Jessica flashed to the notes in his personnel file. Loyal subordinate. Had served under several Command Centurions generally promoted for political reasons rather than command acumen, so he could be trusted to keep things in motion. Smart but not brilliant in the way of some of his subordinate officers. Nobody back at Ladaux interested in advancing his career. No great options, until he had the luck to be serving under her.
“Denis, this is going to be much bigger than Auberon. That you will see shortly. I’m going to be far too busy commanding a squadron to be engaged in the day–to–day operations of things here, although I will most assuredly be reading your reports much closer than Kwok ever did. Your job will be to keep everything and everybody on an even keel. When we go into combat, and we will, you will be commanding Auberon at the tactical level while I handle strategy. I know you can do that, and do it very well. Keep that up and we will have the opportunity to do great things together. Good enough?”
She watched his eyes as he processed. According to the file, he was also a chess player, and pretty good. Jessica was a fencer. It was an entirely different way to think and move, but he would complement her well, if she could rely on him. What she needed was to know if he had that spark left, after being a babysitter for so long.
“Aye, sir,” he finally said. “We’ll give them hell.”
She shook his outstretched hand. So far, so good.
Chapter IX
Date of the Republic October 4, 392 Jumpspace outbound from Kismayo system
In some ways, it was an entirely new sound, but not anything unique when she thought about it. Jessica stood quietly in a side hallway with the door opened and listened to the Flight Deck Commander call the roll.
Iskra Vlahovic was a rare bird in the fleet. She had been a pilot until she’d been shot up enough that she couldn’t fly combat missions any more. Instead of retiring to a desk job or piloting shuttles, she had gone back and gotten advanced degrees in engineering and eventually taken command of the flight deck of Auberon.
If she couldn’t fly, according to the information in her personnel file, at least she would keep others going.
From the discipline records, the woman ran a tight ship. Infractions were closely logged, and punishments paid out without regard to rank or station. Crew either learned from their mistakes or transferred to other ships. The survivors of her wrath thereafter maintained a very high rate of excellence and included a number of seriously over–qualified crew members who had later gone on to other posts and shined.
Jessica counted the names as they were read off. It was an all–hands meeting, so there were twenty–one pilots and flight crew present, plus one senior engineer. They sounded generally bored, perhaps a touch sullen, as if meetings were beneath them.
Based on the pilots she had known, any time not out–ship flying was generally time that was wasted. Opportunities lost. Years of chasing pirates down and rarely catching them would wear.
That was going to change, too.
Jessica perked up as Iskra’s voice changed timber. It was never soft, but it gained something, like what you would use to drive nails through boards.
“Okay,” the woman said. “You’re all here, you’ve heard the news, the rumors, and the gossip. We’ll leave Jumpspace at Simeon in twenty–six hours.”
That was greeted with groans and hoots. About normal for people who considered themselves hotshot pilots.
“Iskra,” a man’s voice cut through the noise. “Don’t you have anything better for us? I’ve flown the range at Simeon seven times now. It’s getting predictable.”
The voice sounded like it belonged to a young man who was used to giving orders. The tone was a good, rich, penetrating baritone. It probably went over well with the ladies at ports of call and dockside bars. Reviewing the ro
ster in her head, Jessica was pretty sure who the owner was, as well.
“Well, Jouster,” the Flight Deck Commander replied, hard, heavy, “I’d like to be the one to ruin your day, but I got outvoted. Ladies and gentlemen, I will now turn the floor over the Command Centurion Keller for your briefing.”
Jessica stepped in from the side hall and surveyed the group as she walked to the lectern. They scrambled to their feet in surprise as their commander walked in.
Iskra was a little taller but very blond. The assembled crew represented about every ethnicity in the Republic, bound together by service and experience. Most of them scowled at her. She returned the favor.
Darya Lagunov was in the third row, next to a short, dark, curvy woman who was at pains to ignore the tall, blond viking of a giant on her other side. Similar dynamics played out around her. They had obviously been together long enough to develop cliques, but not long enough for feuds.
Jessica let her scowl embrace them all for a few seconds, and then smiled. That seemed to unsettle them even more.
She found Jouster, Senior Flight Centurion Milos Pavlovic, the Flight Commander, seated off–center in the second row, about three meters away. He certainly looked the part of a hot–shot pilot and erstwhile ladies’ man. Brown hair, blue eyes, lantern jaw. Exuded a raw sexuality. Noble–born from one of the bluest of the blue–blood clans. A man born with a silver spoon in his mouth and all the advantages money and connections could bring.
Jessica was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt just from his service record. He should have gone into command, and would probably have been serving as executive officer on a cruiser now. Instead, he liked to fly, and was really good at it.
He was just now coming to his feet, well after everyone else. Jessica let her smile settle on him. That chip on the shoulder was the reason he was stationed clear the hell out here, instead of on the main frontier. That, and a history with the daughters of Fleet Lords.
It was a shame that First Lord Kasum had been unwilling to provide her a better Flight Commander. Or, as he had explained it, “There isn’t a better flyer out there. And I don’t have time for you to break a new leader in.”
“Be seated,” Jessica said quietly into the silence. She waited for them to settle and the coughing and rustling to stop.
“To make Simeon interesting for you,” she purred, “you’ll land short, run the range on guns alone, engage every target, and you won’t be done until there are kill–hits on everything in scan range.”
Jessica waited for the sudden surge of noise to die down. She watched Bitter Kitten turn to her compatriot with an evil, victorious smile. She imagined bets were going to be settled after this.
The young man in front raised his hand to get her attention.
“Yes, Jouster?” she inquired.
“Just how short were you planning to execute the jump, commander?” He managed to combine bored, sarky, and superior all in one tone.
Truly, a marvel of a man. However could she resist the raw charisma of his money and breeding? Gosh, princess. Watch.
“We’ll come out of Jumpspace a light hour out after our second exit, get our bearings, and jump again, Jouster,” she replied, mimicking his tone almost perfectly. Others in the room noticed before he did. “The entire wing will execute a crash–launch when we come out at the entry to the range and go about your business.”
“Crash launches are dangerous, commander,” he scowled as he spoke, glancing about for support from his mates. The room seemed poised with anticipation. Of what, she wasn’t sure, but she certainly had their undivided attention.
Jessica refrained from smiling. She would probably look like a cat if she did right now.
“War is dangerous business, Centurion,” she replied with a verbal whip–crack. “I’d rather you made your amateur mistakes on a safe range than when it counted. Any other questions?”
One of the older pilots raised his hand. Holly Dyson had a shaved head, lanky build, and a handlebar mustache. And a reputation in the fleet for crazy stunts. Crazy by the extreme standards of pilots. Another one exiled when he should be in the thick of things.
“Go ahead, Gaucho,” she said.
“Did you mean the whole wing would crash launch, sir? Everybody?” he asked. He had a pleasant tenor voice with an odd accent.
“Assault shuttles also have guns on them. The wing will be graded on time, not efficiency.”
That triggered another round of murmurs rippling around the room.
Bitter Kitten spoke up from the back. “Why guns only, commander?”
Jessica smiled warmly back at her. Bitter Kitten knew some of what was coming, but had obviously kept a few tidbits to herself. That was useful to know.
“Because I intend to operate well at sea for extended periods. That means we don’t get to run home for more missiles if we shoot them all off at the first fleeing pirate we encounter. I want to know that you can kill things at knife–fighting ranges if we have to. It’s going to be dangerous out there.”
She let the smile fade and surveyed the room with a hard eye. “Any other questions?”
The silence hung. It was not the stillness of acquiescence. More likely shock. It would wear off. Or not.
“Then I will leave you with Senior Centurion Vlahovic for the rest of your briefing.”
She marched back to the open side door and exited. Once outside, she closed the door and smiled at Marcelle, who had listening silently outside.
“So what do you think, Marcelle?” she asked quietly.
“Lambs to the slaughter, boss.”
“Us or them?”
Marcelle smiled broadly. “I don’t know anybody who’s dumb enough to bet against you.”
Jessica let a breath out to try to relax. Command meant being right, being decisive, and being indestructible. It was only going to get harder from here.
Chapter X
Date of the Republic October 6, 392 Jumpspace approaching Simeon
Jessica walked onto the bridge and surveyed the scene. The tension fairly cracked.
That was good. She wanted them at a higher pitch than normal for what she had planned.
In one hand, another stack of hand–written linen envelopes. Being able to write those ahead of time required one to plan for a number of contingencies.
It was just one of the things she had learned from the man who would go on to be First Lord. How to fight wars.
Amateurs studied tactics. Professionals studied strategy. Conquerors studied logistics.
Tamara Strnad was already settled into the Central Station. She turned a questioning eye on Jessica, but Jessica shook her head. Up until now, it had been a test to see how well the crew could handle suddenly having to take charge.
They had done rather well. That was the test of Jež as the man who had been responsible for training them and keeping them on task. She had expected him to pass.
Now it was going to get messy. This was where the fun would start.
Or the failure.
Jessica walked next to Tamara and gave her a warm smile. She leaned in close as she handed the woman the next stack of envelopes and whispered, “Final exam, Centurion. Good luck.”
Tamara nodded back at her and looked down at the stack. The top one had the words Open three minutes before you exit Jumpspace scrawled neatly on the outside in Jessica’s careful hand.
Jessica moved to a training station off to one side of the long, skinny bridge, opposite from the one Jež had commandeered, and examined the crew. Today just might make or break them.
“Astrogation systems,” Tamara called out, “please put a countdown timer on the main screen for emergence from Jumpspace.”
“Roger that, sir,” Zupan called back, her hands dancing across the virtual keyboard in a fantastically–complex piano sonata. Numbers appeared on the screen, slowly ticking down.
“Flight Deck,” Tamara continued. Jessica could detect a hint of stress in the words, but she was han
dling it well, especially given the curveballs she was being thrown. “Five minutes to first hop. Wake up your pilots and make sure they’re ready. I expect second hop to end in fifty–five minutes.”
Jessica watched a message begin to scroll across the bottom of the main viewscreen. Flight Deck green and green. Two crews ready for emergency launch at first emergence. Iskra
Jessica nodded. Exactly by the book. It was a shame the book wasn’t going to be worth much in a few days. If she was lucky.
She watched Tamara open the first envelope and read the contents. Her black hair was just long enough to move as she looked down. It bobbed as she re–read the entire letter and then glanced up at Jessica with one arched eyebrow that melted into an evil grin after a moment.
Jessica nearly giggled with delight. This wasn’t Brightoak’s crew, but they were damned good.
“Flag Centurion Zivkovic,” Tamara called with a strong lilt to her voice, “We will expect to rendezvous with our squadron on emergence. Prepare squadron channels and make sure Flag facilities are ready.”
Jessica heard a squeak, from the young man seated next to her. Enej Zivkovic was a brilliant man from a poor family, so they had a few things in common, but he lacked the killer instinct that would have marked him for eventual command.
Jessica wondered if she could help him find it.
She watched him recover his poise with a quick glance at her, and then begin toggling switches live that had been dark on his station.
The next words surprised Jessica.
“Defense Systems,” she heard Tamara call, “prepare to bring all defensive shields and weapon systems on line to engage possible hostiles. Gunnery, there should be two vessels when we arrive, the heavy destroyer Rajput, and a fleet escort, CR–264. I want you to unlock everything and plot generic firing solutions. You will refine those as soon as we have any signals. If this is a trap, I want you to kill the biggest target you have first, but you will not fire without a direct order.”
Jessica smiled. It was the kind of order she had given a number of times, even approaching the fleet’s home base at Ladaux.
