Quite abruptly, he sat down.
In spite of having his nose rubbed in it for twenty minutes, he hadn’t really understood. This admiral was from Earth! He’d known from back channel reports that he and Ben had major egg on their faces from how they’d handled the commencement of hostilities. His staff ranged from surly, to overtly hostile. Only two of his people had not applied for transfer. He’d not had the courage to ask Ben how his people had reacted.
And how many times had he heard grumblings that the war was on, that people were being promoted and transferred -- but not here on Tannenbaum?
He dressed mechanically, having called down for a jitney and found that it was already waiting. He and a dozen other officers from the BOQ flew the five kilometers to the auditorium, where a number of officers already waited. None of whom would meet his eyes; no one had said a word on the jitney.
Benjamin came in twenty minutes later, and he’d just about reached Sergei to talk, when from outside came a thundering clap of sound. Everyone in the room jumped; Sergei looked around. That had sounded like an assault shuttle!
He saw Admiral Benjamin nod to his junior aide and whisper, “Port has the stand down order?”
“Yes, sir. They acknowledged.”
Outside, two more of those stupendous claps of thunder followed the first. The Fleet was putting in assault Marines? Three shuttles? Close to a fifteen hundred armored troops?
Ten minutes later Admiral Ibn Saud strode into the room alone, walked to the podium and looked around. Without preamble he began to speak to the assembled officers.
“On old Earth, during the Twentieth century, quite a few nations contested against the civilized democracies. Germany, Japan, Russia, China, Korea, Cuba, Vietnam, Libya, Iran, Iraq, Serbia, Venezuela and others. A long, long list ranging from giants to pygmies.
“In many of those conflicts, when one side or the other thought they were losing, the political masters would attempt to blame the military debacle on their own soldiers -- in all honesty, sometimes the blame was deserved. Mostly, it was because their soldiers had simply lost.
“Typically when a commander was relieved, so was his staff. In Western armies, this meant retirement, a chance to write memoirs and perhaps a political career. In some countries, particularly the adversarial nations, the staff replacement was wholesale, rather than retail. Sometimes the staff would be ushered out to the nearest field and shot; other times if a commander appeared to be too successful or too popular, his aircraft would crash. It should be noted that few general or staff officers so cashiered or executed, were ever of use again, no matter how dire the subsequent crisis.”
He paused, looking over the silent room. “The Federation is locked in a life and death struggle with enemies more inimical than any we’ve ever faced in the history of our species. In our defense against these enemies, there have already been significant derogations of fundamental rights of citizens as defined in the Federation Charter. Both the Senate and the Federation Council have approved Special Boards; some of those Boards have resulted in people being executed for treason against the race.
“Which brings me to Tannenbaum.” The words hung over the room; more than one flinched away from the man’s steely gaze.
“You here have not acquitted yourselves well.
“In the first days, your commanders were twice informed of the attacks on neighboring planets -- and they ordered both Paul Revere vessels to subordinate duties. They attempted to actively hinder those ships from completing their assigned missions. Had those orders been obeyed, everyone in this system would have died. Everyone at New Helgoland. Everyone at Grant’s World and Engen. A billion souls. At a very minimum.
“The officers who disobeyed those orders were subsequently completely exonerated by Special Boards, consisting of Admiral Nagoya, Admiral Fletcher and President van de Veere. Further, those same officers were commended and promoted for their diligence and bravery.
“The orders given here, to those commanders, are not the class of mistake that can be tolerated, nor left unanswered.
“Worse, only a few officers in this command filed protests; worse still, none of those protests were allowed to be transmitted, by direct order of the commanders involved.
“A Special Board met eight weeks ago, and tried the lot of you, in absentia. They voted that the offenses constituted treason against the race. I was ordered here, to execute Admirals Larimov and Emmanuel and their staffs, as ordered by the Federation Council, convening itself as a Special Board.”
The sounds in the room vanished to zero, as the words sank in.
“I was given broad latitude in what I could do. I felt, in spite of my heritage, that mass executions would not be an auspicious way to begin a new command. So...
“Admirals Larimov and Emmanuel. I have orders-in-council for your execution. On my own authority I am commuting your sentences to reduction in rank to Spaceman 4th class -- general enlistee. The revocation of all pay, allowances and pensions except as otherwise entitled to your new grade, and new date of rank, 0001 hours today. Your other choice is a general court-martial for conduct unbecoming, failure to command, dereliction of duty and a host of other charges. Choose one from Column A or one from Column B.” He gestured to one of the officers who had filed into the room only in the last few seconds of his speech. “If you wish a court-martial, report to Major Finn, my Judge Advocate. Otherwise, you are dismissed. You have no business in a meeting of your superiors.”
Neither officer looked at the other; both were gone from the room in seconds.
“Which leaves,” the admiral spoke firmly, “the rest of you. I will repeat this, so that all may understand and be sure: if you object to my decision here and now, you may also appeal to a general court. If your appeal fails, you will die.
“I have no desire to preside over the mass executions of officers, either Port or Fleet. Therefore, I have elected administrative punishment. All officers in this room, above the grade of ensign, are reduced one grade. All officers in the room have midnight tonight, plus one minute as a date of rank. You now have a minimum passing score on any Fleet certificate that you have earned. You may, in one year, retake those exams for credit. Furthermore, all of you, every last single one of you, have orders for elsewhere. Shortly shuttles will arrive; you will embark and leave. Those with families may send for them in due course, from your next posting.
“I am a Fleet rear admiral -- I expect to command aloft. However, for the time being, I am tasked with commanding the defense of Tannenbaum from the ground. I have every intention of making that command as short as I can make it.
“None of you here will be around to help me.” Ibn Saud hawked and spat on the floor. “None of you could possibly help me.” He turned and walked from the room, saying nothing further. The broad width of his back, facing them, said all that needed to be said.
* * *
Six hours later Ibn Saud looked up at his Judge Advocate General staff officer. “You have a report?” the admiral inquired.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then give it.” The other seemed flustered a bit.
“Admiral, one officer has applied for a general court. A junior lieutenant.”
Ibn Saud’s eyes turned hostile. “Has he now?” The admiral stared at the lawyer sent to help him. “Does this officer offer a defense?”
“Aye, sir. She states that she arrived on Tannenbaum fourteen days after the attack, radial from Haven. The officer has repeatedly requested a transfer since her first day in-system and her personnel file is filled with reports of her frequent, vehement objections to the conduct of the commanders here.”
Ibn Saud grimaced. The implicit condemnation for the minor error in gender was obvious, not to mention the far larger error. Even so, the problem here was clear. If he dismissed the lieutenant as exempt from court-martial, he’d establish a bad precedent.
He grinned and picked up his phone. “Lieutenant Booth.” The voice on the other end answered in t
he affirmative. “You will appear in my quarters in ten minutes wearing a presentable duty uniform.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral.”
A few seconds later he was speaking to his Chief Engineer. “Lieutenant Commander Morrison, you will appear in my quarters, in ten minutes, dress uniform, including all medals and awards.”
The engineer also averred he’d be there. Finally the one tough call.
“Captain Heisenberg, this is Admiral Ibn Saud, if you would, Captain, I need you to chair a court-martial. An hour from now in my cabin. Please, if you would, duty uniform. I will also require two other officers of your choice, rank of lieutenant commander or commander, also duty uniform, to report for the duty as well. Commander Morrison is exempt, as he has other duties in this regard.”
There was a moment’s pause and Ibn Saud explained further, “This is for one of the downside officers who has elected to try her luck.” He deliberately did not elaborate -- knowing as he did, that he was prejudicing Captain Heisenberg against the defendant. Knowing further that there was a reason why he’d ordered Terry Morrison to wear his medals and hadn’t bothered to do so with Captain Heisenberg or Lieutenant Booth.
Shortly he faced his two youngest officers; two people he had come to have enormous respect for. “Lieutenant Commander Morrison, please hold out your hand.”
The young engineering officer did so, and his admiral placed a file folder into the young man’s fingers. “You hold there, Commander, someone’s life. Please, you will find her in the wardroom, under guard. Talk to her, come up with a plan to save that life. She is to go before a general court-martial in thirty minutes.”
The lieutenant commander had taken the folder, nodding seriously, saluted and left.
“Lieutenant Booth.” His young operations officer stepped forward. “Your hand please.” The young woman did as the engineer had done. “This, Lieutenant, is the records jacket of an officer on trial for her life. Kill her.”
He saw the startled expression in the young woman’s eyes, and he saw the almost instantaneous hardening as the realization sunk in. “Aye, aye, Admiral.”
“Dismissed.”
* * *
Later Ibn Saud reviewed the recording of the court-martial. No one, he was sure, would ever willingly subject themselves to such. Bethany Booth had attacked with steadfast determination, even though she had to be aware that the charge was bogus and without merit. The not-much-older chief engineer had had no expression throughout the hour-long proceeding. He simply, doggedly, presented fact after fact; he’d called three witnesses, any one of whom would have tipped the balance. But against Bethany Booth, Ibn Saud agreed, you had to be very sure of your ground -- or she’d cut it out from under you.
311
Starfarer’s Dream
Chapter 14 -- Picket Force
Johnny Montezuma looked up at the ship he’d been directed to. He’d passed a dozen Fleet cruisers reaching this spot. Most ranged from a hundred and fifty meters in diameter to a little short of two hundred meters in diameter. This cruiser was closer to two hundred and twenty-five meters.
The differences might not sound like much, but a hundred and fifty-meter cruiser enclosed a volume of one and three quarter million cubic meters, while a ship two hundred and twenty-five meters in diameter enclosed a volume of nearly six million cubic meters. That meant that a significant additional volume was devoted to weapons, fuel, power, engines, electronics and crew.
There was, not surprisingly, a lock watch of a dozen men, half of whom were Marines. He gave his name to the lock commander and said that he was there to see Lieutenant Wolf. He could tell from the man’s expression that he had no intention of telling Johnny anything.
One of the Marine buck sergeants spoke up. “Lieutenant Mukerji, Captain Halvorsen said to call him when this officer appeared and that he’d see to it that he was squared away.”
The full lieutenant on duty at the lock looked like he was completely unhappy. “It is on the Captain's head, then.”
A few moments later the Marine officer that Johnny had seen that morning appeared and had him passed through. They went down a passage inside the ship, stopping at a lift. The captain looked Johnny over.
“There are some things you need to know, Lieutenant. I’ve heard that you wish to be assigned into Warlock.”
“Yes, sir,” Johnny told him. “I didn’t join the Fleet to sit on the sidelines. I’ve been doing that for weeks now.”
“You should be aware, Lieutenant, why Lieutenant Commander Wolf was delayed in arriving at the watchkeeping exam this morning.”
“Lieutenant commander? She was a lieutenant this morning.”
“Aye, sir, that she was. That, sir, was then -- this is now. Do you wish to know what delayed Lieutenant Commander Wolf or do you want to continue to obfuscate matters?”
“Educate me,” Johnny said hastily.
“Individuals delayed her; they interfered with her duty. They prevented her from completing a task she’d been assigned in a timely manner; some caused her personal injury.
“Lieutenant, one of those involved was shot this morning for his actions and a second was shot this afternoon. Eighteen other individuals were involuntarily enlisted in the Fleet, mostly in the Port Branch, for the duration plus a year and a day.”
Johnny tried not to keep the astonishment from his face. The captain wasn’t done.
“The President of the Federation, Emil van de Veere, commanded Admiral Nagoya that he never wanted to hear of such a thing again. Admiral Fletcher told Commodore Travers the same thing. Commodore Travers told me that I was to kill the next person who interfered with Lieutenant Commander Wolf’s duty without warning. That he was holding me personally responsible that such a thing never happened again.”
“I thought Captain Travers was a captain, earlier today,” Johnny temporized.
“Fleet passed down promotion orders. Did you know that they’ve nominated Lieutenant Commander Wolf twice for the Federation Star?”
Johnny had indeed looked up the new awards and was familiar with all of them. He’d known Willow Wolf had scads of Battle Stars and Death Stars. But the Federation Star? That had been awarded three times now -- Twice to Turbine Jensen and once to Vice Admiral Charles Gull at Snow Dance. Willow Wolf had been nominated twice? It beggared the mind!
“In short, Lieutenant, Warlock is a ship that is going to be sent in harm’s way. The number I’ve heard is that we’ve only a fifty-fifty chance of surviving our first deployment. I’ll call the elevator for us, sir, if you’re sure this is the ship for you.”
Johnny didn’t even hesitate. “My family is dead, sir, killed on Shenendoah, except for my little sister. She was killed at Corinth. There is nothing I wish more in life, Captain, than to be on a ship headed their way with a chance to do some damage.”
The Marine captain clapped him on the back. “In that case, Lieutenant, Warlock is for you! Commodore Travers intends to see how many of our enemies our blues can evaporate without a trace!”
* * *
Willow Wolf sat directly across the dinner table from Johnny, at the commodore’s right hand. The entire meal was spent in discussion of how best to structure the Picket Force and how best to keep the pickets alive, or, failing that, to return the intelligence they gained back home.
As near as Johnny could tell, everyone in the wardroom offered ideas, and Commodore Travers frequently solicited Johnny’s opinion. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep up with the agile minds around him, all of whom, he realized, had been thinking about the subject for hours or days.
Finally the meal was finished and the Commodore called Johnny to his conference room.
“Right now, Lieutenant, you probably think you didn’t give a very good showing just now.”
“Aye, sir. I haven’t heard of the Picket Force before, and I didn’t expect to be grilled on a concept I have no familiarity with.”
“Well, it’s not like it’s a finished concept,” Commodore Travers s
aid with a grimace.
“Yes, sir. As a lieutenant, I’ve offered up work product before; I’ve rarely been solicited for my views and when, in the past, I offered them anyway, I was shut down.”
“Well, Lieutenant, welcome to the Fleet! That won’t happen aboard this ship!
“You have a choice. You can return to the replacement depot and hope for another assignment, or return to the replacement depot, check out and return aboard Warlock. We and our consorts lift at noon tomorrow.”
“Commodore, I wish I’d done better just now, I really do. I’m a cracker-jack navigator, sir; not a strategist. Still, sir, I’d like to ship out with Warlock.”
“By 0800 tomorrow morning then, Lieutenant, report to the BuPers office aboard Warlock. They’ll see you squared away, and settle you right in. We’ll lift a few hours later.”
“I can be aboard, Commodore, in an hour.”
“That’s your choice, Lieutenant.
“One last thing, Lieutenant. The Fleet was very quick responding to finding out a number of below-age recruits have joined. As Warlock’s commander, I stand in loco parentis to Lieutenant Commander Wolf. That’s an absurdity, of course, but those are the current regulations; I’ve asked that any officer reaching junior lieutenant be considered as having reached their majority.
“But, as I said, that’s not the case today. I’d warn you about misbehaving towards Lieutenant Commander Wolf, but trust me, Lieutenant; she’s the mascot of the ship’s Marines. I don’t have to warn you about anything. Mess with Willow Wolf and they will turn you into splash of V-8 juice on the deck.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Sir, Lieutenant Commander Wolf fascinates me because I wish I could have done what she’s done. But, I’m a navigator, sir.”
“Contemplate this, Assistant Navigator Montezuma. I was up for the Federation Star myself. Even before they disallowed Willow’s medals, I’d turned down the Star they’d offered me. I was, Lieutenant, a taxi cab driver. I provided the transportation and drove from place to place; places where Lieutenant Commander Wolf did her magic. Lieutenant Commander Wolf provided the weapon and took the shots. The rest of us were along to support her, not the other way around.
Starfarer's Dream (Kinsella Universe Book 4) Page 34
