Something else stood out as they finally made it to a central lift, no one was armed. He was carrying both his holstered Krager gauss pistol on his right hip and his extension sword on his left. His S&W gauss pistol, 8mm Starburst ship-pistol, and his poly-carbon Randell fighting knife were in his space bag.
He had become accustomed to being armed but again he had spent all of his time behind enemy lines. Fleet service was different than being on an attack cruiser that may be attacked at a moment’s notice. Still, it was an odd feeling as crewmen paused to look at the man in space combat armor and who was armed. Yet, he believed that it expressed the urgency of their situation as well as a warrior impression.
Taking the lift, they went up several decks stopping several times to take on passengers and to let people off. Most people gave him a head nod or a strange look. A few crewmen simply said “sir” and left it at that. He was surprised at how quiet the lift was with absolutely no small talk from anyone.
When the lift stopped at their deck, Specialist Garcia took a few steps and then stopped. Turning around, he scratched his cheek for a second before he spoke.
“Sir, would you like to change before you see the Commodore?” he asked sounding a little awkward.
Mike let out a huff, “What do you suggest?”
“There is an officers’ wardroom just down the hall that you could use,” the crewman replied his face showing he was still a little uncertain.
He shook his head no.
“There are serious rules about wardrooms on capital ships. Just find me a head,” he said referring to a bathroom.
“Aye, sir,” Garcia said and looked up and down the junction for second. He then nodded and pointed down the left-hand corridor.
“Lead on,” he said following him down the corridor to a head.
Surprisingly, the room was large and fortunately empty. It took a few minutes to change but he did feel better to be out of his space suit. His uniform was a little wrinkled but it would have to do. Staring at his weapons belt for a minute, he reached down and put it back on. He was under orders to be armed as he carried these dispatches and that didn’t stop until he hand delivered them to the Commodore or to the starbase’s Admiral.
Specialist Garcia was leaning against the opposite wall from the doorway as he entered the hallway.
“Sir,” he said with a nod.
Mike nodded back, “Let’s go.”
Heading back down to the juncture they turned right and went down the corridor. Here there were several offices with people coming and going. Reaching a section with fewer doors they stopped by a closed door.
“Here we are, sir,” the Specialist said with a forced smile as he activated the comm. panel.
“Yes?” a voice said across the link.
“Lt. Collins from the Star Tiger is here to see Commodore Essex,” Garcia replied to the panel.
The door slid open a second later.
“Thanks,” Mike said to guide.
“Good luck, sir,” he whispered his face suddenly looking a little anxious. He then turned and walked briskly away without saying another word.
The young officer frowned a little, turned and went into the Commodore’s office or at least what he thought was his office.
The room was plush, really plush with shag blue carpeting and hardwood armchairs lining both side walls. Colorful flower arrangements and landscape artwork filled the dead space around the room. Centered in back of the room was a secretary’s desk with a yeoman sitting behind it who was hard at work.
Approaching the desk, Mike reached for his data cube cry-crystal with his orders. Making to hand her the crystal, he saw that she wasn’t paying attention to him but was working the holo-screen from her desktop emitter. She was wearing VR glasses and had interface gloves on that allowed her when necessary to interact with the holo-field. She was also wearing a thorax mike and would occasionally make a commentary note. From the sound of it all, it seemed like she was coordinating preparations for a dinner party on the starbase.
After a minute or so he heard enough and cleared his throat.
The secretary stopped working and touched the side of her glasses. The lens went from green to clear and she tilted her head to look at him.
“Please take a seat, Lieutenant. The Commodore will see you shortly,” she said then tapped her glasses again and went back to work.
“Great,” Collins mumble as he sat down in the first chair, right next to a side door. There was one other door in the room and that was behind the secretary’s desk on the far wall.
Glancing around he could see that there were nameplates next to the two doors. The plate just above his head at the side door said – Lt. Linda Friar. The other nameplate that was by the far door said - Commodore George Essex.
Mike had never heard of either of them. The lieutenant was probably the Commodore’s flag adjutant or aide. Such officers were also known as a dog-robber in most circles. Most thought that the term came from the fact that a general’s aide would steal the last bone from a starving dog if his flag officer needed it. This meant that a dog-robber would do whatever they need to make their officer happy.
Back at Harpers Academy, Mike had been warned to be very careful of becoming a flag adjutant if the occasion ever came up. It was a hell of an opportunity as after two years you’d be given your choice of assignments and possible promotion. It was a fast track to a command but of course, you’d had to leave a troop assignment. There was also the whole sell your soul to be a party planner and gofer. Commander Hutton had warned him that to take such an assignment should be weighed carefully. Weighed not against what you could gain in the end, but against the officer you’d be serving, what you could learn from him or what you’d lose by serving him or her.
Mike was still thinking this when the main door to the office slid open, startling him from his thoughts. In came a young female officer in a standard duty uniform. The uniform was perfectly pressed and she was wearing a short dress jacket. The jacket had her rank as well as a mass of thick gold cord off her left shoulder. Her rank was that of full lieutenant the same as him.
The gold rope indicated for the world to see that she was the Commodore’s flag adjutant. He knew from his academy days that the rope was called an aiguillette, being once used to hold a knight’s armor together. Looking at her strut across the room to the yeoman’s desk he was sure that she always wore her jacket and cord.
She paused at the secretary’s desk, picking up a palm pad computer from the desk’s surface. The secretary continued her work unhindered by the flag adjutant’s appearance. The lieutenant gazed down at the palm pad for a few moments and then frowned. Tapping the screen with her finger she shook her head in disapproval.
Mike watched her as she worked, noticing that she was pretty but seemed rather plain which was not unusual in a military setting. Her hair was a dirty blond that was cut short yet had a slight curl to it. She was of average height and was slender in an athletic way.
“Yeoman, I’ve made modifications to the seating arrangement, please upload the changes and inform the dining staff,” she said to the petty officer.
“Yes, Ma’am,” the secretary said as she tapped the air of the holo-field.
The aide then glanced towards him, took a few steps closer to him and looked down at him.
“I’m Lt. Linda Friar, the Commodore’s aide,” she said with an air of authority.
“That’s nice, I’m Lt. …” he started to reply looking up at her.
“You’re Lt. Collins,” she interrupted “and you have dispatches for Commodore Essex.”
“That’s right,” he answered.
“I’ll take those dispatches,” she said holding out her hand.
Collins looked at her and leaned back into his seat.
“No,” he said rather flatly.
“What!” she exclaimed as her face scowled at him in anger.
“I’m under orders to hand deliver these dispatches, intelligence updates
, and orders to the commanding officer of the 34th attack fleet or to the starbase’s admiral,” Mike informed.
“I’m the Commodore’s flag aide,” she again stated.
“And I’m under orders from Rear Admiral Sir Egbert Underhill-Norton and Fleet Captain Sir Randolph Hope,” he countered.
She paused for a moment, her lips pressed together in anger.
“The orders of an old admiral, who was declared lost in battle and a relic of a ship captain don’t really matter to me. Now give me those dispatches or I’ll have them taken from you!”
Mike didn’t smile or make a face but he was now growing mad. He was mostly angry that she had so little respect for two senior officers that he held in the highest regard.
“Lieutenant, I’m under arms,” he stated seriously.
It was a clear threat, saying that if you want to try and take them then he was authorized to use force in their protection. Now the questions were - did she believe him and did he really mean it?
To emphasize his point, he casually unfastened the safety strap from his pistol’s holster.
Lt. Friar scowled down at him. She knew that if he really was under arms that he could legitimately stop her or anyone from compelling him to give up his dispatches.
“Fine, but I’ll see them eventually,” she commented and moved to the door right by his seat.
“I’m sure you will but only after I have delivered them,” Mike retorted.
Opening the door, she quickly disappeared into her office slamming it closed behind her.
“Well, at least I made another friend today,” Collins whispered to himself.
The echo of the door slamming made him turn in his seat and look at the door. It wasn’t a standard built-in sliding door but was an old wooden door that was hinged to the wall. In fact, if he had to guess, he would have said that it had once been an interior door to a supply closet.
Turning back in his seat he smiled, thinking that she had made a supply closet into her office probably just to be close to her flag officer. Not all that surprising, considering the limited amount of extra space on a warship but still it made him smile.
Closing his eyes, he almost fell asleep. It was a good skill to have and most servicemen learned to sleep anywhere and at any time they could. What kept him from slumber was that he heard voices. Not the kind in your head but the voices of people talking nearby.
Opening his eyes, he saw that the only other person in the room was the yeoman who was still hard at work at her holo-screen. Turning his head, right then left, he realized that the voices were coming from the adjutant’s office. The thin door was no match for his own augmented hearing.
Angling his head, Collins carefully moved his chair a little closer to the door and listened in. The first thing he realized was that the Commodore’s aide was eavesdropping into his transmission.
“Commander Hunter, I really don’t care what Admiral Egbert Norton-Underhill has ordered or of any crazy attacks that Captain Hope has planned. I’m the commander of the 34th Attack Fleet and my orders are to hold this system at all cost and that means staying right here,” a rough and slightly deep voice said. He sounded like the kind of man that didn’t like to be told what to do or to ever hear the word no.
“Sir, with all due respect, we have a chance to take the offense in this sector. If the 34th Attack Fleet would join with the 12th Defense Fleet and Wolf Squadron, then we could launch an attack into a sector that has already been severely weakened. Imagine the opportunity that we now have to change this war,” Hunter argued trying to make this senior officer see the light.
“The only opportunity that I can imagine is disaster. One in which my fleet is trapped and destroyed. One where this starbase is left undefended and vulnerable,” Essex countered.
“Is that why when Admiral Norton-Underhill needed reinforcement at Jericho Six you only sent two ships to aid him instead of the entire fleet?” the attack cruiser’s captain asked making it sound just as it did – as an accusation.
“That is none of your concern, Commander,” the Commodore snapped.
Mike knew that if the 34th had arrived at that battle they would have saved the day and possibly could have destroyed two enemy fleets in the process. Instead, only the ISS Patton and the ISS Bastogne were sent. The light cruiser and heavy frigate still managed to help save the remaining ships of the 12th escape as well as destroying or damaging several enemy ships before they also managed to escape.
“Yes, sir,” he said and continued, “my concern is for my ship and for the Earth Confederation.”
“Commander Hunter, I hereby order you to dock your ship at the starbase. You are also ordered to report to me at Admiral Yancy’s office,” he said sounding mad.
“For what purpose?” Hunter asked.
“Why for you to meet your replacement as captain of the Star Tiger,” Essex replied looking forward to dragging this officer in front of the base admiral and a court-martial board.
“I don’t think I’ll comply with your orders, sir,” Edmund Hunter replied sounding calm for someone who was about to be relieved of command and possibly brought up on charges.
“I’ll have you court-martialed and behind bars if you don’t!” the Commodore threatened.
“Sorry, sir, but you don’t have that authority,” Hunter stated and added, “under Special Order 4479, stealth ship commanders including Attack Cruisers and Stealth Cruisers, operate independently of fleet operations and at their own discretion unless otherwise directed by the Admiralty. So, with all due respect, you can’t order me to stay or relieve me of my command. I’m afraid that is a few steps above your pay grade, sir.”
At that moment, another voice broke into their conversation.
“Sir, the Star Tiger is moving into the Beta gravity well,” a maser operator on board the Pallas informed having been told to report their movements.
“Hunter, I order you and your crew to stand down and return to this base,” Essex yelled in frustration.
“You won’t listen to reason, so let’s see if the Admiralty feels the same way,” Commander Hunter replied and then said in a more of a command voice, “Helm, take us into the gravity well and open a bend.”
“I’ll have your hide for this!” Essex shouted but it was too late as the attack cruiser had already slipped away.
The voices stopped at that point and Mike assumed that the channel went dead. A moment later, he heard a beep and Lt. Friar’s voice said: “Yes, sir?”
“Come to my office, right now,” the Commodore said still sounding angry.
“Right away, sir,” she answered.
Collins could hear her get up and walk to the door that he was listening at. As she opened the door, he slid down into his seat and pretended to be dozing. It didn’t really matter as she hurried by him and went directly to the Commodore’s office. The door slid open and she went inside followed by the door closing behind her with a swoosh.
Sitting there replaying the conversation in his head, he knew that he was in for a world of hurt. The Commodore clearly could care less about Admiral Norton-Underhill’s orders or Captain Hope’s battle plan. Commander Hunter had, as they say, kicked the hornets’ nest and ran. Mike, on the other hand, was stuck here with an enraged flag officer. A commanding officer who was looking to make an example of somebody that he could vent his rage and frustration on. Of course, that somebody was going to be one Mike Collins.
Taking a deep breath, he remembered his years of martial arts training and military training. His training as an officer and a soldier told him that shit happens so just deal with it. His martial art’s side said to find his center and enter the void. He emptied himself of thought and emotion, focusing on his breathing and frankly nothing. Anger would be his enemy and just as any fight, he would have to control his Irish temper. In a fight, it is skill, control and intensity not anger that wins the day.
He had great teachers both in martial arts and in traditional military service. They wo
uld have reminded him that this was another contest and not to be manipulated by an opponent into doing something he would regret.
As he sat there preparing himself, he realized that it had felt like he had been there for some time. Pulling out his palm pad computer he was a little surprised to see that it had been two hours since he had entered the office. His own preparations for a mental conflict with the senior officer had taken him away from that feeling of time passing. One thing he knew was that his sitting out there for so long was also part of their game.
Standing up, he stretched and straighten out his uniform. Adjusting his weapons belt, he pulled the cry-crystals dispatches out of his pocket and walked over to the Commodore’s door.
The yeoman was still busy with her holo interface and didn’t even notice him pass by her desk.
Reaching the door, he took a deep breath.
“Once more unto the breach,” he said to himself as he knocked on the door.
It took a moment but then the door slid opened.
The room inside was huge and it was no wonder that the Commodore’s secretary office was small and that his aide was in a broom closet. Paneled walls, a wet bar, and shag carpeting were just of few of amenities of the office. To the left was a lounge area that looked like someone’s living room right down to the entertainment center, leather sofa, and stuffed chair. A wet bar was near the living room and around the corner of the bar was a side room that looked like a full kitchen.
Unlike Captain Hope’s office on the Star Wolf, there was a total lack of any type of book shelving or books in the room. The artwork was also of question, it being more colorful abstracts that made no image and left it to a person’s imagination as to what they were supposed to be of.
Directly in front of him was the office area of the room and there behind a huge emperor style wooden desk sat Commodore George Essex. Nearby his aide, Lt. Linda Friar stood with a palm pad held in her hand. She was standing off to the side of the desk and was not sitting in one of the chairs directly in front of it.
Commodore George Essex was tall and looked lean though he had a bit of a paunch in the middle. His thin hair was dark and his skin was a bit on the pasty side, probably from lack of natural light. Behind him, the wall was covered with his awards, certificates, and citations set up for all the world to see and admire.
Wolves at the Gate (Star Wolf Squadron Book 3) Page 4
