Battlecruiser Alamo: Not In My Name

by Richard Tongue

 “All the more reason for him not to sit on his laurels.”

   “If you are suggesting that a member of my shift is not performing as he should, then I would welcome your recommendations in writing as to how he might be improved.”

   There was silence on the bridge, and Salazar realized that he was dancing on a very fine line between duty and insubordination. Grant stared at him for a second, then looked down at his panel, before finally deciding to reply.

   “If a senior officer directs you to make improvements to your team, then you are obligated to make changes. If you do not have the knowledge in how to strengthen your people, then it is possible that you are not qualified for your assignment. I will discuss this with the Captain at the staff meeting tonight.”

   Foster looked at him, openly grinning, and Salazar turned back to his station, looking up at the clock. Less than five minutes until the shift change. Normally he actually enjoyed being at the heart of things, sitting up on the bridge, but for once he couldn’t wait to get below decks. He concentrated on the handover report, double-checking everything, certain that other eyes than those of Sub-Lieutenant McGuire would be reading it.

   The door opened, and the first three members of Beta Shift stepped onto the deck, heading to their stations, starting the changeover. Without a word, Grant rose from the command chair, stepping into the elevator, and he couldn’t stop a sigh of relief escaping.

   “You should listen to him, you know,” Foster said. “He’s had more experience than half the people on this ship.”

   “Not Mr. Spinelli, though,” Salazar replied. “Mike, if I ever have any problem with you, I’ll let you know. I consider your current performance to be fully in accord with your past record.”

   “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.” He glared at the door, and said, “He doesn’t sit in on the other shifts.”

   “The other shifts have highly qualified officers in command,” Foster said. “Perhaps he feels that this one requires his personal supervision.”

   Handing off a datapad to her Beta Watch counterpart, Erickson stood up, brushed back her dark hair, and replied, “Assistant Operations Officer is a pretty meaningless title. I’ve never heard of one before. He’s trying to find something to justify himself.”

   “You will show more respect to senior officers, Spaceman,” Foster snapped, leaping to her feet, but Salazar put a hand on her shoulder.

   “Speaking as your senior officer, Midshipman, I’d have to say that you aren’t setting much of an example. Don’t make me file a formal report.” Looking at Erickson, he said, “With either of you.”

   The two of them glared at each other, and the elevator opened again, McGuire walking out onto the bridge with Midshipman Petrov in tow. She looked at the two glaring crewmen, shook her head, and stepped over to the command chair.

   “Did I miss something?”

   “Nothing important,” Salazar said. “Handover report is logged, we’re still monitoring the tanker load-outs, and have just landed number five on the surface. That storm seems to be fading, but keep a look out.” He looked down at his watch, and said, “We’re still scheduled for departure just after Gamma Watch is meant to come on. Might mean an early shift change.”

   “Or a later one,” Petrov grumbled.

   “A little bit of fun for us, anyway,” McGuire said. “I take the conn.”

   “I stand relieved,” Salazar replied, stepping over to the elevator. Erickson stepped in ahead of him, clutching her datapad, and Spinelli and Weitzman were engaged in an animated discussion with their counterparts. Foster stood by her station, looking down at Petrov, as the doors slammed shut.

   Reaching across, Erickson tapped for the enlisted mess, and the elevator began to move. After a moment, Salazar hit the control for the hangar deck.

   “You’re off-duty, sir,” the engineer said.

   “The drone fighters are being loaded up. I thought I’d take a look.”

   “Still want to fly fighters, sir?”

   “It’s not something you get over quickly.”

   She paused, then said, “I’m sorry. About what I said up on the bridge.”

   He shrugged, replying, “I’ve had worse than Grant riding my back before this. I dare say I will again. You get used to it after a while.”

   “He’s micromanaging, and worse still, he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing. That storm, for instance. What the hell was that about? Even I could see that it was passing.”

   “So did I, but we both spent a lot of time on Titan, and I don’t think Lieutenant Grant has ever lived on a world with an atmosphere of its own. It’s something you have to experience before you can understand it.” He smiled, then said, “I learned to fly on Titan. Gliders, then some of the airships. Flying in atmosphere is a lot more fun than flying in space. You never know what the wind is going to do next.”

   “I’m surprised you didn’t try for shuttle operations. I started out as a shuttle pilot a couple of years ago before retraining as an engineer.”

   “I thought about it, but when it came to it, my test scores were high enough to get me into the fighter training program. Besides, shuttles don’t go into battle. At least, not on purpose.” He smiled, then said, “Sorry. I must be boring you.”

   “Not at all,” she said. “I’ll try not to snap at your Midshipman again, sir. Though you really shouldn’t let her get away with so much.”

   “You’re familiar with my record, Spaceman, aren’t you?”

   “It’s what you’ve done since the Academy that counts, sir. In my opinion.” The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. Erickson stepped out, and said, “If you ever need someone to talk to, let me know. I could stand to be bored if you could.”

   He smiled, and replied, “I might take you up on that someday.”

   She returned the smile, then walked down the corridor, the doors closing behind her as the elevator continued to its destination. Salazar smiled, shook his head, then pulled out his datapad, looking at the planned jump schedule. As he thought, he’d just be coming on duty when they emerged from hendecaspace at DX Cancri. Whatever they found there, they’d be in on it.

   The doors opened again, and he stepped out onto the hangar deck, the six fighters all being raised into their mounts, high up at the top of the bay, Two of them were almost in position, the others still rising, and he strode forward, heedless of where he was going, his eye running across every detail.

   They were a lot smaller than the usual fighters, no cumbersome lifesystem to weigh everything down. A bulky communications array, double-redundant systems, and hard-points for two missiles under short, stubby wings.

   “Impressive, aren’t they,” a woman wearing Senior Lieutenant’s insignia said. “You must be Sub-Lieutenant Salazar.”

   He jerked back to reality and saluted, replying, “Yes, ma’am.”

   “Senior Lieutenant Ryder. And relax, on the hangar deck we’re all just pilots.”

   “How are they controlled?”

   She frowned, then said, “That’s the weak spot. We can control them from a command ship, but the original plan was to customize a scoutship, strip it down, and use that to control maybe eighteen of them.”

   “Eighteen?”

   “We had plans for light drone carriers. You’d be amazed how little space they’d take. They’d operate in groups of three ships, two armored scouts to escort the carrier. The whole formation would race forward, keeping the fighters reasonably tight. After about twenty thousand miles, you lose the advantage.”

   “Speed of light delay.”

   “In battle, microseconds count. The manual control is the compromise. No-one was that eager to have fully automated warships flying around in a combat zone. We have enough trouble with the missiles. One man can fly six of these. That’s the design, anyway.”

   “But if they have to stay in close…”

   She gestu
red over to the far side of the hangar, where a strange-shaped shuttle was sitting. A lot lighter than usual, obviously not intended for atmospheric flight, and with a small enough life-system that it could only accommodate two people. Two people who didn’t mind being friendly, at that.

   “I rode that for a year when we did the flight tests. Simulated battles, drills, engagements. We tested the hell out of them, ticked off every box.”

   “You tested them?”

   “No-one wanted the job, so I got it. I was naive enough to think that it would be a good step up in my career, that when they adopted the fighters I’d have a senior role, maybe a squadron command.” Shaking her head, she continued, “I was stupid when I was a Sub-Lieutenant.”

   “If they performed…”

   “Fighter Command is full of people who spent their careers flying fighters the old-fashioned way, and if it was good enough for them, it’s good enough for us. They buried the whole thing, and me along with it. Can you believe at one point I was one of the oldest Sub-Lieutenants in the fleet?”

   “And now you’re one of the youngest Senior Lieutenants,” Orlova said, stepping forward. “Evening, Pavel. Come to gawk at the fighters?”

   “I couldn’t resist, ma’am.”

   “Of course not,” she said. “Neither could I. And don’t worry, Simone, I’ll take good care of them while we’re borrowing them.”

   “You aren’t coming with us?” Salazar asked.

   “I have a ship of my own to worry about these days,” Ryder replied. “And someone’s got to look after the station while you all go flying across the galaxy. Maggie can handle it.”

   “It’ll help to get someone else on it, anyway. We need to get these ships into squadron service, and if we can get some actual combat out of them, we might be able to convince some of the top brass that they can’t postpone the future forever.”

   “Some hope,” Ryder said. “I chased that dream for a long time. Long enough that I almost wrecked my career doing it.”

   Stepping forward, Salazar said, “It is a pity, but I agree with you. This is the future.”

   “Going to miss the days of leaping across the skies riding fire?” Orlova asked. “A lot of good people have died far too young. Just ask the Captain if you don’t believe me.”

   “I know, but there’s a romance about this.”

   “Just like knights in armor,” Ryder said with a smile, “but I don’t think Mr. Cooper would respond well if you suggested putting his people in chainmail.”

   Gesturing towards the deck office, Orlova said, “Mind if I have a word with you for a moment?”

   With one last look at the fighters, he nodded, stepping into the office. Orlova perched on the seat, checked that the door was closed, then pulled out her datapad.

   “Operational orders have come through. We’re going to be discussing them in some detail at a long and boring meeting in half an hour or so, but the short version is that Captain Cunningham is staying behind on the station. We’re still waiting for a permanent commander, and with a squadron of scouts, the repair work, the possibility of another attack...the short version is that someone senior needs to be in charge.”

   “I understand, ma’am, but I don’t see how this relates to me.”

   “I’m going to have to spend a lot of time in the simulators over the next few weeks getting up to speed on these, which means that Lieutenant Grant is going to be picking up a lot of the slack in the administration of Operations. Now do you see?”

   “I don’t have any problem following the chain of command, ma’am.”

   “I understand there was a little altercation on the bridge earlier. A heated debate, as I heard it.”

   “Ma’am, I don’t know who…”

   “Relax. You’ve got a very protective group of crewmen there, that’s all. Consider yourself off the record.”

   He paused, then said, “Questioning the experience of Spaceman Spinelli was uncalled for, ma’am. What he was asking for was outside anything the bridge sensor station is meant to do.”

   Shaking her head, she replied, “You’ll speak up for others before you speak up for yourself, won’t you.”

   “I’m in charge of Alpha Watch, and I don’t have any concerns with any of my crewmen. All of them are performing well, and with a program of drills and training updates, I am confident that they will continue to do so.”

   “You’re keeping up with changes to doctrine and equipment, then,” she said.

   “Of course, ma’am.”

   “Sometimes it takes a while for people to realize that excellence must be maintained, and that we never actually stop learning while we’re wearing the uniform. You’ve got the right attitude, Sub-Lieutenant, and I know that the Captain is happy with your performance.”

   He nodded, and said, “I’m glad to know that, ma’am.”

   “Well, know this. If anyone tries to do something unfair to you or someone on your watch, I’ve got your back. I’m Operations Officer, and the responsibility for bridge operations rests with me. Not Mr. Grant.”

   “Aye, ma’am.”

   She paused, and said, “You came very close to crossing the line, though. I watched the recording.” Raising a hand, she added, “I’ll admit you managed to stay just on the right side of it, but you need to be more careful in future.”

   “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

   “It’s not a long-term situation anyway. The word is that he’s to be promoted and assigned to command Yeager. Probably when we get back. That’s between the two of us, though. Just to let you know that there is light at the end of the tunnel.”

   “Are we still off the record?”

   “Certainly.”

   “Then I can tell you that I’ll be very pleased to hear that, ma’am. Have you any problems with my staff?”

   “I’d have already told you about them if I did.”

   Nodding, he replied, “Thank you, ma’am.”

   “I’ve been in your seat, Sub-Lieutenant, and I know it can get a little difficult at times. Oh, and one more thing.”

   “Ma’am?”

   “Don’t forget the rules about fraternization. Especially given that Kari Erickson is directly in your chain of command.”

   His mouth opened, and he replied, “How did you…”

   She beamed, and said, “Omniscience comes with the rank. Don’t worry, you’ll learn that, given time.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “I wouldn’t…”

   “I know. But that’s the sort of thing certain officers might pick up on. Just be careful.” Gesturing at the door, she said, “Come on. Let’s go gawk at those fighters some more. I could be talked into drafting you in as a sparring partner for some of my simulations.”

   With a smile, he followed her back out onto the deck.

  Chapter 5

   A look around Alamo’s sickbay would convince an unaware observer that the ship had lost a major battle. A pair of orderlies were taking a body bag out into the corridor, heading for the hangar bay, and others were cleaning the medical bays, sterilizing equipment and decontaminating the walls and the floor. Cooper watched while one of them wiped clear some splatters of blood from a table, dropping the tissues into a biohazard bin.

   He stepped over to the far side of the room, to the only two occupied beds, the only ones that had been occupied by his own people. Burns was fast asleep, gently snoring, a bandage wrapped around his head. He glanced up at the monitors, nodded, then stepped over to Rhodes, who smiled as he approached.

   “Morning, sir,” the trooper said.

   “How’s the leg?”

   “Can’t complain,” he replied. “Not given everything else that happened here today.” He looked across at the bed, shuddered, and said, “Is it always like this, sir?”

   “No,” Doctor Duquesne said, walking out of her office. “Usually it’s a hell of a l
ot worse. Ensign, your platoon hasn’t been back on board for a day, and already my staff are working double shifts.”

   “What was the count?” he asked.

   “Four dead, the rest seriously wounded. Did you have to inflict that much carnage?”

   “They attacked us, Doctor,” he replied.

   “Yeah. And by God did they pay for it.” She turned around, issuing a sharp rebuke to one of her orderlies for missing a spot, then returned to her office.

   “I thought the medics were supposed to be friendly,” Rhodes said.

   “Think of it as motivation to get back on duty.” He looked up at the board, and continued, “Says here that you’ll be out of here in a few days. Is there anything you need?”

   “An attractive nurse and a beer,” he said with a smile. “Make that two.”

   “Nurses or beers?” Cooper replied. “Stay loose, Private.”

   He walked out of sickbay, looking at the office door and shaking his head as he strode away down the corridor. Pulling out his datapad, he scanned through the reports, frowning. They’d been damn lucky during that assault. Four injuries, two of them so minor that they were already back on duty. What troubled him more was the attitude of his men. Comparatively speaking, this one was easy. Full space superiority, reinforcements on hand, overwhelming force against inferior opposition.

   He felt someone poking him in the back, and turned to see his wife standing behind him, shaking her head.

   “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I guess my mind was wandering.”

   “Always the same after a battle. I’m getting used to it.”

   They stepped into the elevator, and he said, “Never seems to feel any easier.”

   “Perhaps it never will.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “I can’t get the look on the face of Caledonia’s captain out of my head. The way he reached for that control, I’d swear he wanted me to shoot him. The same with the others in the backup command center. They must have known that I’d blow through that door, must have seen that I was using HE in the footage.”

   “Maybe they were counting on that. From what I heard, it fits in with their behavior during the last battle. Only the strong, the winners, should survive.”