"Sorry, sir. I wasn't looking where I was going."
Raising his hand, Marshall replied, "I'm just glad I don't know Japanese. I'm probably not old enough for some of the language you were using." His Operations Officer, Senior Lieutenant Cunningham, walked in while he was talking, followed by the ebullient Lieutenant Dixon, his squadron leader, who was waving her arms about in what he presumed to be some sort of demonstration of fighter tactics. She flashed him a quick grin as she sat down. The next two entrants were also engaged in shop talk; Lieutenant Quinn and his senior NCO, Petty Officer Sipos, seemed to be having a good-natured argument about the hendecaspace drive, and they took seats next to each other, ignoring the rest of the room.
Walking stiffly with one leg, the result of a wound in the recent battle, Ensign Esposito followed, taking a seat next to Marshall, and Harper scampered into the room behind her; Marshall gestured her into Orlova's vacant chair. Finally, the last three arrived, just as he was about to have them paged. Petty Officer Washington, standing in for Orlova while she was down on the surface, followed by his Astrogator, Senior Lieutenant Mulenga, and reluctantly by Lieutenant Caine, his old friend and Tactical Officer.
He looked at her most closely of all; her face was a mask, carefully concealing any thoughts she might have had, but there was a look in her eyes that he recognized, and one he didn't like. She'd gone through a small piece of hell down on the planet just a week ago, and Marshall knew that in the back of her mind she was reliving that action again and again, trying to work out what she did wrong, what mistake she had made that had cost so many lives. Marshall's personal opinion was that she hadn't made any, but getting her to see that would be a very different thing.
"I think that's everyone," he said, and the room fell silent. Washington looked over at Harper with surprise; the young crewman shrugged as she slouched in her seat. "First of all, I'd like to thank Lieutenant Quinn for getting us here in one piece. Have you revised your repair estimates?" He asked with more hope than expectation.
"I'm afraid not, skipper. With a little luck, I'll have the old girl back together again in five weeks or so. Better than new."
Cunningham turned to look at the engineer, "And if you prioritize the hendecaspace systems?"
"It's the superstructure that's the biggest problem there, sir. We'd never survive the transition in our current condition; frankly, most of the bells and whistles are stuff I'm doing while we're re-stressing the skin. That takes time, and there's nothing much I can do about it."
"Sub-Lieutenant," Marshall looked over at Matsumoto, "You've been over at the spaceport for the last couple of weeks. Is it ready for occupancy?"
"We can take as many as you want, sir. More than a hundred and we'll be hot bunking."
"That won't be necessary." Marshall punched some buttons on his desk, and an image of Jefferson, the planet below, flashed up. "This is our primary concern for the moment, ladies and gentlemen. We made a mess here when we decapitated the planetary government, and from what I've seen of the rebels down there, they're going to need our help to fix it."
"Surely that's their own affair, sir," Dietz said.
"We broke it, we bought it. I'm not installing a Governor or declaring martial law, but I am committing Alamo's resources to helping them. Certainly we need to at least get the local situation to the point that they can contain it on their own, which means reinforcing the planetary defense forces until they can stand on their own two feet."
Nodding, Esposito said, "I've been working on this assumption, Captain. The platoon's ready for action, and we didn't sustain any serious casualties during the drop on Yreka. I'd like to keep Sub-Lieutenant Orlova for a while, if that's not a problem."
With a wry smile, Marshall replied, "Oh, that's certainly not a problem." He slid a datapad across to her, "I'm brevetting you to Lieutenant for the duration of our stay on Jefferson."
Lines crinkled across her forehead. "Sir, that's not necessary. I appreciate the gesture, but..."
"If you're commanding a company, you need to have the rank."
Across the table, all the officers and crew were looking at each other in surprise; Marshall sat back for a moment before continuing, punching up a revised crew roster to appear over the table, Jefferson flicking out as the text danced in the air.
"Mr. Quinn, you only need about forty people to complete your repairs, correct?"
Shrugging, he replied, "Basically, yeah. As long as it's the right forty people."
"And most of the rest will just be sitting on the spacedock anyway, waiting for you to finish. Heck, you could house most of those forty on the interior sections of Alamo. You're only tearing off the outer skin."
"I guess so, sir. It won't be very comfortable.”
"Mr. Cunningham," he turned to the frowning officer, "I presume all the crew are up on their small-arms training?"
"They aren't espatier-quality, sir," Esposito added. "I wouldn't want to risk them in any sort of a battle."
"Nor would I, Lieutenant," he replied. "What I have in mind is quite simple. I'm giving you a provisional company, about ninety with the espatiers you have. You'll need to split your NCOs up a little, but I want two platoons suitable for garrison duty, and one platoon that we can use as a strike force."
She nodded, "That makes sense, actually. One at the spaceport, one at Yreka. Where am I getting the platoon officers from?" She glanced around the table. "The shift leaders?"
Shaking his head, Marshall replied, "I want those on Alamo. I'm leaving the flight crews on board just in case, as well as the maintenance crews and the fighter squadron." He gestured up at the roster. "All three of the midshipmen have had one semester of Espatier training anyway, so they're current. I'll brevet them to Ensign and they can have the job."
"They've had one semester of training, about a year ago," Cunningham said, shaking his head, "Are we really this desperate?"
"That's a lot more recent than any training anyone else has had," Marshall said. "I don't like this any more than you do, but those platoons need officers."
"Zabek's certainly up to it. She fought like a demon down at the starport; I have a feeling she missed her calling. I'm not sure about the others, though. Is Steele fit?" Esposito asked.
"Doctor Duquesne seems to think so; she's been cleared for duty. Obviously that crash didn't shake her up that badly. Put them where you want..."
"And impress upon them that they are to listen to their Sergeants." She smiled, "Yes, sir."
"Good. I'll be transferring down to the surface to assume overall command down there. If you left anything in one piece, then I'll set up shop down in Yreka."
"You aren't staying on board?" Dietz asked, a frown on his face.
"It's a war zone, Captain," Cunningham said. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"If a platoon of espatiers can't keep me safe, Lieutenant, then we've got bigger problems." He folded his hands together, continuing, "The political situation down there is nightmarish in the extreme. Someone's got to put the pieces together, at least until the real diplomats arrive, and that's my job." With an evil grin, he continued, "Yours too. I want you down there as well."
"Then I am to assume command, Captain?" Dietz said, his expression suggesting that he had anticipated this.
His eyes widened as Marshall replied. "No, Mr. Dietz. I want you to assume command of the starport. I need someone over there to go over it with a fine tooth-comb. Take a couple of the spooks with you," Harper bristled at that description, "and a few others. Our desperate need is for intelligence, and that goes for everyone. We know next to nothing about the spacefaring potential of the Cabal. All we know is that the name has been thrown around, but we don't know whether it has fleets, colonies, ground troops...don't know if they are preparing for an attack right now."
With a sigh, Mulenga replied, "Then I am assuming command?"
Marshall shook his head, "Of the spaceport down on Jefferson, where you will do the same as Mr. Dietz. If there is
anything down there, I want to know about it – and feel free to poke at those alien ruins, as well. There's a picture building up. Lieutenant Caine?"
"Sir?" she replied, disinterested.
"As of my departure, you will assume command of Alamo until my return."
Her eyes widened, panic briefly flickering, "Sir, surely Mr. Quinn would be a better..."
"He's going to have his hands full fixing the ship. You are the next in line, in any case."
Dixon looked over at Caine and then back at Marshall, "If you need a volunteer..."
"I appreciate the offer, Lieutenant, but this is Lieutenant Caine's job." He leaned over towards her, "You can handle it, Lieutenant. Just keep her in one piece until I get back."
She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and replied, "Aye, Captain."
"Much as I'm enjoying this, Cap, I've got work to do," Harper said, drawing a stare from everyone in the room.
"Spaceman Harper, you will consider...," Dietz began.
Raising his hand, Marshall interrupted him. "We're going to have a lot of spots in the org chart to fill. Lieutenant Dixon, you'll be assuming the role of Exec, and Sub-Lieutenant Matsumoto, I want you as Operations Officer."
Smiling, Dixon nodded; Matsumoto replied, "Aye, sir."
"Petty Officer Sipos, if needed you will assume the duties as Astrogator."
"Huh?"
"You do have a masters in cosmology from Titan Tech, yes?"
"Well, yes, but that was a while ago."
"Better hope you aren't needed, then. Petty Officer Washington, you'll be sitting in at Tactical."
"Understood, sir."
"And Spaceman Harper, you will be sitting in as Security Officer."
Looking around from side to side, she replied, "You've got to be crazy."
Getting his reply in first, Marshall said, "Calling me crazy is a prerogative of Senior Lieutenant rank, Spaceman." That sent a series of chuckles around the table, and turned Cunningham's face red. "You're best qualified for the job, just get it done. I told you a while ago that I'd be happy to give you a free hand where needed; have one. I want this ship to have the best intrusion and counter-intrusion package in the Fleet."
"I get any help?"
"Nope. I can't spare anyone. I'm sure Petty Officer Washington will be available to answer questions as needed." He shook his head with a wry grin, “I thought you worked better alone, anyway.”
Looking up at the stout woman, Harper shook her head, "I'll manage. Thanks, skipper."
"I'll leave the final details for the department heads. Get me updated rosters in three hours, and I want the company to be disembarking before the spin gets taken off. That's all, dismissed."
Almost everyone stood up, standing to attention; Harper had to be nudged by Washington before she copied the others, beginning to file out of the room. Dietz and Cunningham, exchanging looks that Marshall recognized, remained after the others had left.
"I thought you'd want words, gentlemen."
Dietz looked at Cunningham again, then back at Marshall, "Sir, as it happens I think we both agree with your reasoning in taking charge on the surface."
"But you think one of you should be in charge."
"Yes, sir."
Nodding, Marshall gestured at the pair to sit down. "It isn't any reflection on your abilities – or those of Mr. Mulenga, for that matter."
"Lieutenant Caine's performance since her return...," Dietz began.
Cunningham interrupted him, "She's lost the spark, Captain. Just going through the motions."
"I agree," Marshall said.
"Then why leave her in command?"
"Because I'm expecting her to request early resignation from the Fleet when we get back to Ragnarok." The two looked at each other again, and he continued, "She had a bad time on the surface. Her first real independent command, and though she accomplished the mission, the price was too damn high."
There was a haunted look on Cunningham's face as he replied, "I've been there."
"We all have. It's a bridge we all have to cross at some point in our careers." He paused for a second. "At some point in the next month, she's going to have to have a moment when she realizes that despite the cost, it's worth it. The best place for that to happen is sitting center seat. I'm giving her the opportunity to have that moment."
"And if she doesn't?" Cunningham asked. "If she screws up?"
"If she still puts in her request then I will recommend it be granted. There's no point keeping an officer in the service who doesn't want to be there, not in peacetime. If there's a problem, then you, Mr. Dietz, are moments away, and I can be here in a shuttle in less than an hour. This isn't high risk."
"Dixon wants it, you know," said Cunningham. "She's got the hunger."
"Then having someone snapping at her heels might help even more." He glanced down at the datapads again, then back up, "That's all. Dismissed."
As they left the room, Marshall put the datapad back on his desk and looked up again, wondering for about the tenth time whether he was doing the right thing. Shaking his head, he plunged back into his reports. There was a lot left to cover before he could get his boots dirty.
CHAPTER THREE
The liquid swirled around the glass in Caine's hand as she watched, contemplating whether or not to take a drink; she'd been resorting to it more and more to try and get some sleep in the last few nights, but that didn't seem to be stopping the ghosts. Her desk was crowded with datapads and assorted junk; she'd never been one to maintain an orderly office, but of late Matsumoto had been dropping increasingly blatant hints about working down her paperwork pile. Raising a toast to the wall, she drained the drink down in one, placing the glass down on the deck.
There was a knock on the door; she ignored it, considering whether to pour herself another drink. The knock came again, more insistently, and then a red light flashed above it. Someone was using a security override, and she couldn't bring herself to care. The door finally, almost reluctantly slid open, and Cunningham walked into the room, a look of disgust creeping onto his face.
"Hi John. Want a drink?" she proffered the bottle towards him.
With a quick, furtive look behind him, he walked in, sitting down opposite her. "Of course I don't want a god-damned drink, and a look at the clock should be enough to stop you as well."
"I'm not the first officer to drink on duty. Doubt I'll be the last. If you want, tell the Captain."
Leaning forward, Cunningham snatched the bottle from the desk, slammed the stopper home, and placed it in a drawer, "You want off the ship? That'd be a good way to do it. You want to let him down? That'd be an excellent way of doing it."
She shook her head, "I'm a mess, John. And don't think I don't know it."
He tossed a packet of pills out of a pocket. "Take one. I want you sober for this."
Leaning back in his chair, Cunningham tried to soften his look with limited success, "How the hell did you manage it, Deadeye?"
"Manage what?"
"You got through four years of the worst war in a century without losing someone you were responsible for. I know you managed to dance out of any command jobs, but even so. It must have happened."
"That was different." She was getting a mild headache; the pills were taking effect quickly. "That wasn't me. I wasn't the one ordering them in."
"God only knows what you must have thought of me, or Marshall for that matter."
"I tried not to. I saw what it did to both of you." With a bitter laugh, she continued, "Why do you think I never sought command. I know I didn't want it, didn't what what it was going to do to me." She pushed a datapad across the desk. "I'm leaving the service. If I get this to Danny before he leaves, maybe he'll see sense and leave someone competent in command."
"He already did."
Shouting, she replied, "They're dead, damn it! Six boys aren't going to get to grow up because I led them into battle."
"They wanted to go."
"I should have stop
ped them."
Cunningham stood up quickly, sending his chair rattling across the floor. "You damn coward. Don't you think they knew what they were up against? I read your report – and more to the point, I read Orlova's. She thinks very highly of you, by the way."
"Danny should have left her in charge."
"Maybe he should have." Her eyes widened. "She seems to have fewer compunctions about doing what is necessary." He sighed. "This is my fault. I should have given you a flight when you were under my command. You'd have been through this already."
"You were more interested in sharing my bed at the time."
He smiled, shaking his head a little, "Look, I'm not going to pretend you get over it, because you don't. You've got six ghosts? I've got more like six hundred. I'm damaged goods, and damn well know it. Our Captain's no different. On his first mission, his first command, he had a mutiny and twenty-one crewmen died. That's going to stick with him until the day he dies." He paused, looking down at the draw. "I had my affairs, and I won't pretend that the Captain doesn't find relief in a bottle on occasion."
Despair filled Caine's eyes, "And now I'm back in command again."
"Of a ship in dry-dock, Deadeye. Look, this is the Captain's idea to get you back in the saddle. You know what; he's wrong. I'd have put you in charge of an espatier platoon."
"Don't be stupid."
"I'm being serious. You've got to get over this, and just quitting the service isn't an option. Running away doesn't work." He stood up, making his way over to the door.
"Wait."
He turned, "What?"
"How do you live with it?"
"Damned if I know, Deadeye. You just do." He turned, slamming his hands on the desk, "And you damn well better get over it quickly. I mean it, Deadeye. Like it or not, we need you in the service. You're one of the best Tactical Officers I've ever seen, and I have the distinct impression we're heading for another war."
Battlecruiser Alamo: Tip of the Spear Page 2
