Tales From the War (Kinsella Universe Book 5)

by Gina Marie Wylie

  “We have latch-frame! We have active sensor scans!” the sensor officer reported.

  There was a concerted sigh of relief from those present.

  Admiral Saito frowned, and then thought of a suitable punishment. “Who here is warm, fuzzy and happy that we’re safe?”

  Lieutenant Ferguson was the first to speak. “I’m relieved!”

  Admiral Saito saluted him. “Then, Lieutenant, you tell them of Gandalf and Shackelton.”

  The weapons officer looked like he’d been punched.

  The admiral had no intentions of having someone quite so junior do the duty, though. “Communications. Khansas has a Class II Fleet base. Connect me at once with the Fleet Aloft admiral commanding. Commence the data dump as soon has you have a connection!”

  A moment later the communications officer announced that Fleet Aloft Rear Admiral Gehring was commanded Fleet Aloft while Port Rear Admiral Leukema commanded the base.

  On the wall of the bridge a panel lit, with a pale-skinned Pakistani, Admiral Gehring, shown on the left, while on the right an even paler Finn, Admiral Leukema.

  Admiral Gehring was obviously reading from the data dump. He glanced absently at Admiral Saito. “I’d say it was a pleasure, Admiral Saito, but this is...”

  Admiral Leukema was more blunt. “I can’t believe this. Is this some sort of misguided attempt at an exercise, Admiral Saito?”

  “You haven’t gotten then, to the pictures we took of Gandalf as we withdrew. Admiral, I assure you this is not an exercise. This is as real as it gets. Admirals, you need to start making your preparations at once.”

  “And they attacked you at Shackelton?” Admiral Gehring queried.

  “Well, we didn’t wait for them to actually launch missiles. But there was no doubt they were there preparing to do so.”

  “Well, I have one ship in orbit on ready alert. They’re getting underway at once,” Admiral Gehring stated. “We have a dozen more ships either aground or aloft, in various states of readiness. I assure you, Admiral Saito, their General Quarters alarms are already ringing.”

  The Pakistani admiral paused. “There are two dozen merchant ships here. I’m trying to think of a polite way to tell that they are federalized.”

  Admiral Saito cocked his head to one side and spoke drolly, “As you may recall, I have some small experience in commandeering civilian spacecraft. I asked their captains to please lend a hand. That worked.”

  “Tenebra,” Admiral Leukema added, nodding. “The problem with that, Admiral Saito, is if we do that, the cat will be out of the bag. We’ll never be able to keep this secret.”

  Admiral Saito sniffed in derision. “While I don’t speak for the Federation Council -- nor do I have a crystal ball to predict what specific course of action they will adopt -- it seems clear to me that our duty is Paul Revere: to warn as many systems as possible as quickly as possible, using any means necessary.”

  Beside him, Commander Warner laughed. “Not to mention, admirals, how much better it will be to be known as the men who let the cat out of the bag, than to be known as the men who let the fox into the henhouse!”

  Admiral Saito was more prosaic. “Do as you believe best, Admiral Gehring. The data dump will be complete in three minutes. We’ll continue our mission as soon as the transmission ends.”

  “Fuel, consumables, weapons?” Admiral Gehring asked softly.

  “Within acceptable limits, given the circumstances and urgency of the mission.”

  “Admiral, you have our heartfelt thanks and fondest wishes for your safety. Go with God, Admiral Saito!”

  A few moments Nihon vanished from the Khansas system.

  V

  Admiral Ito Saito listened quietly to Ernie Fletcher talk, until the other admiral, the man who commanded the Fleet operations these days, finished, saying, “Well, what do you think, Ito?”

  Admiral Saito sighed loud enough so that the other would hear. “I am flattered that you think so highly of my abilities, Admiral Fletcher. I had not thought of hoisting my flag in Nihon -- that is a wonderful idea! And very tempting!”

  “Just tempting?” Ernie Fletcher queried.

  “Alas, we must think about our priorities. You are quite correct, I will be of more utility commanding the defenses of Earth, than being captain of a research vessel, no matter how excellent the ship or her crew.

  “You will, no doubt, find me a fine flag captain for me. Except, a person qualified to be flag captain to the admiral tasked with defending the home world would be wasted aboard a ship such as Nihon.”

  “I’d rather thought that would leave him a lot of extra time to help with staff work.”

  Admiral Saito nodded and said soberly, “That is another problem area. Nihon does have adequate communications and sensor facilities. What Nihon does lack, however, is space. While I prefer a small staff, what will be required for this task would be far in excess of the cubic available aboard Nihon.

  “However the most cogent argument of all against employing Nihon in such a role is the value of Nihon as a combat platform.

  “You are postulating attacks by a small number of ships against the entire Federation. Quite simply, Nihon could, by herself, easily stop such an attack by four ships and perhaps by as many as twice that number. We cannot waste a ship capable of protecting an entire system on such duty, when we have perfectly capable cruisers available for me to use with space sufficient, and who would not be able to do better than two or three to one.”

  Admiral Fletcher grimaced. “When Buster came up with this idea, I was still in semi-shock; more so that he could suggest something so practical. I told him it was a good idea. Then I thought about it and didn’t have the heart to tell him what a mistake it would be.”

  Admiral Saito smiled slightly. “It is difficult to tell a diligent subordinate with a clever, but impractical idea, that it won’t work. It is most difficult when it is an equal. A challenge, when he is your superior.”

  The two men both laughed politely, but both knew full well the truth of it.

  “I would like to pick a suitable captain for Nihon myself,” Admiral Saito told the operational commander of Fleet Aloft. “I guarantee that he will do better than my former relative, even if he is not currently on the active list. You are more familiar with the senior captains and ships available -- I will be pleased with whichever ship you choose for my flag and whoever you wish to be flag captain.” Or, in translation: a quid pro quo: let Saito pick the captain of Nihon and Admiral Fletcher could appoint his choice flag captain, aboard which ever ship he wished. Two plums for a cherry.

  Admiral Fletcher nodded. “Quite a few officers, not on the active list have presented themselves for duty. I have a task in mind for Nihon. A quite suitable task. Snow Dance.”

  Admiral Saito smiled. “Ah, quite so! He will be ideal indeed, in that case. Evan Carlson.”

  It was Ernie Fletcher’s turn to smile. “Even better, I’m sending Charlie Gull out to be military governor of that area. The two of them have a little history.”

  “And this time, there shouldn’t be any foolishness about Carlson’s arm,” Admiral Saito said firmly.

  “The time for foolishness is past,” Admiral Fletcher agreed.

  VI

  “Commander Warner,” Admiral Saito greeted the officer who had entered his office. “Please, have a seat.” He waved her to the easy chair next to him rather than the hard back chair opposite the couch the admiral was sitting on.

  The admiral had never been formal with her before; Evelyn Warner was sure the other shoe was finally going to drop.

  “Commander, normally after an action such as Nihon participated in at Gandalf, a good XO would be promoted to command.” He looked at her without expression. “I have here,” he held up a message flimsy, “a recommendation that you be promoted so, immediately.”

  She nodded, unsure even now, what she wanted. She was not at all happy that such a paper existed, even though for a recently frocked commander, an
immediate appointment to a command would be a coup indeed.

  Admiral Saito smiled slightly again. “A number of chair-warmers thought that with what happened to Commander Park, perhaps not. I myself do not see that as an obstacle. In fact, the only obstacle I can see is you, yourself.”

  She started to speak, and he waved his hand for her silence. “Commander, in my opinion you are an outstanding XO and I am quite certain you will be a fine captain. Soon, I think.

  “But not yet.

  “You came aboard Nihon thinking one thing and learned something quite different from what you expected. They told you that the XO slot just meant some extra administrative work, to lighten your captain’s burden of command. That you would be able to continue your research and lose only minimal time from your work because of your command duties.”

  Commander Warner nodded. Except it hadn’t worked out that way in practice. Even with only thirty-odd crew, Nihon had kept her far busier than she had intended. And Captain Park had been, at best, an indifferent commanding officer; she’d done a lot of things he should have done.

  “Instead,” the admiral went on, “you learned that the job description you’d been given was inadequate; nonetheless you rose to meet the challenge and carried out those duties in an exemplary fashion. Although you have confidence in your ability to handle the job, you weren’t sure if it’s what you want to do.”

  “Admiral...” She stopped, shrugged. “I don’t think I want to be a captain. But with the war...” There was no way to duck your duty, not when the existence of your race was at stake.

  He chuckled. “After your first month in command, you will realize that you can never live without it again. I don’t really think you are quite ready for a command yet either. A little time in grade won’t hurt.”

  “I understand. Maybe if it was Nihon...”

  Admiral Saito shook his head. “No doubt you heard of the proposal that Nihon be my flagship. That was a well intentioned, but impractical, concept. I too will be leaving the ship; Nihon will revert to general Fleet duties. Except Nihon is unique. She is capable of standing alone where two or three cruisers would be at risk. Nihon is going straight back to war, Commander.”

  She nodded, and lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid, Admiral.”

  “No, I know that. But, I think you need a little time to concentrate on just one thing: being the best XO in the Fleet, and learning a little more about what it is to command. And once you’ve done that a while, a very short while -- then you’ll be ready.”

  He flipped the first sheet of paper upside down and produced a second. “This is a detail as XO to a very good ship, a ship that is currently assigned to the Rim Watch. Her captain is going on to bigger and better things; the current XO is getting bumped to commander and is getting a frigate. The new captain is a man who was retired this time last week and is now back on active duty. He’s hard, capable and a fire-eater, even now, even if he is seventy-five. I doubt seriously if you’ll spend more than two or three months in the Rim Watch before seeing something more active.”

  “I think I would prefer that, Admiral. Nihon...”

  He nodded. “Good officers all develop a special fondness, Commander, for certain ships. Who knows why we form attachments like that? The fact is that we do. The new captain of Nihon is a man of considerable talents; Fleet has someone in mind for XO that complements him neatly. Plus, that lucky captain is going out with a flag officer in tow, anyway.”

  Thunder and Lightning

  I

  Commander Sarah Bachman settled into her captain’s chair and studied the computer screens in front of her with the logs from over night. “Just the one hospital flight last watch?” she asked her officer of the watch.

  Commander Bachman was tall and thin, her ship suit hung loose on her gangly frame. She’d had a terrible time at the Fleet Academy, garnering numberless gigs for sloppiness; Sarah Bachman was never sloppy about anything, but that’s not how she looked.

  Phillipe Navarro, the sharp young junior lieutenant who’d had the bridge during the graveyard watch, nodded. “Yes, Captain. Otherwise, it’s been a quiet watch.”

  Idly the captain of the Fleet corvette Ridgeway fingered the blue and gold pin on her shipsuit that denoted assignment to the Rim Watch while she studied the status displays intently. Space was, she thought, getting pretty tame.

  Lieutenant Navarro started for the hatch and stopped, turning back to his captain. “Coffee, Captain? I just made some up.”

  Ridgeway’s captain grimaced; for her hot coffee first thing in the morning was a marvelous laxative. “I’ll pass for now, Phil, thanks anyway.”

  The lieutenant nodded and left. It had been fun, he thought as he went through the hatch, to make the suggestion -- knowing the captain never had coffee early in the morning. He himself couldn’t stand the thought of starting the duty day without a hot mug of the strongest brew available. Or two or three.

  Commander Bachman started a few administrative tasks and finished them. Then she stood, wandering around the bridge, checking each of the stations. After almost a year, the bridge crew no longer grew nervous when their captain would appear, looking over their shoulders. In all that time she’d never once spoken to anyone. And they had all grown used to her speaking up at the least little sign of something incorrect.

  Satisfied, she returned to her chair and ran through the I-branch summary for the day. To say that the Rim was self-policing was like saying the sky was blue, back on Earth. There had been a few frontier-type lawless elements to begin with, but the hard taskmaster of space had quickly reduced their number to functional, actual, zero. The sort of people who went to space were risk takers -- self-motivated movers and shakers. They were not people you wanted to mess with. And when they had been messed with, the results had often been pretty drastic.

  She finished her review and was considering her first cup of coffee when one of the new ensigns at the sensor boards spoke. “Captain, a vessel just came off High Fan, half million and change kilometers DX; 37.3 degrees right, 2.1 degrees up. That’s only about 20,000 kilometers above the plane. Zero cycle time.”

  Commander Bachman sat up straight in her chair. Someone had come off fans virtually in the asteroid belt? Good God! That flight crew shouldn’t be allowed to ever handle so much as a bumper car, ever again!

  “Plot an intercept! Query their transponder! I want to know who that cowboy is!” With a zero cycle time, she thought, it wasn’t likely to be a passenger ship. Most of the passengers and half the crew would have been barfing!

  The sensor officer nodded, and then looked up, her face puzzled. “They have an odd IFF transponder, Captain. The letters P and R, repeated twice more, then Fenris, P and R twice again, three shorts, three long, three shorts run together with only short breaks between the triplets and then the sequence repeats. They are really cranking the fans, too.”

  “Ensign Fleury,” Commander Bach said gently.

  The young sensor officer nodded, still listening to the transponder beacon.

  “When we secure, you will report to your quarters under hack. There you will study diligently the Special Signal Instruction manual. The communications officer shall rigorously examine you on the contents before you stand another watch. If you should fail that exam, you are beached, Ensign.”

  Ensign Fleury’s face went pale, then doubly so. The captain had reached down and pressed the ship-wide intercom button and said with quiet firmness, “General quarters! General quarters! No drill! Man your battle stations!” The captain’s finger flipped up the cover over the GQ key and pressed it.

  The alarm gong began to ring, but everywhere on Ridgeway the ship’s crew was already moving. One by one the departments reported, until the weapons officer reported manned and ready. With the last department set, she flipped the intercom switch again. “Lieutenant Ferrell, this is the captain. You will load all missiles, counter ship. Nuclear release authentication Fox Romeo Tango Fox Golf. This is not a drill. You wil
l engage any vessel attempting to intercept frigate Fenris and destroy it without warning.”

  There was a pause, and the weapons officer audibly gulped. “Aye, aye, Captain.” He’d just received permission to launch nuclear weapons on his own authority at any track he, himself, deemed hostile. And the Fleet AI that checked such things had agreed.

  “Navigation, we will assume a course parallel to Fenris; two light seconds off. Comms, message Fenris our intentions; use code word authenticators.”

  The bridge crew had taken the hand-off from the watch crew; doing so with a minimum of disruption. All of their eyes were wide, staring at their captain.

  “Then, Comms, begin a general broadcast. All non-fleet vessels are to sheer off any course that comes within ten light seconds of Fenris. Failure to do so will, repeat, will result in their being fired upon without further warning.”

  The navigator reported. “Captain, we’ll have to run up our intrinsic quite a bit if we want to parallel Fenris.”

  “Run us dry,” Commander Bachman commanded. She looked at the Comms position. “Are we broadcasting the warning?”

  “Yes, Captain.” The communications officer looked over at his assistant, his eyes unblinking. “The Paul Revere command set has been implemented.”

  Ensign Fleury had to fight the sudden rush of vomit into her mouth. Only bitter determination kept her from losing her breakfast. For six years she’d dreamed of going to the Academy; six years of skull sweat, long, long hours of cramming. Then four years where the pace was a hundred times harder than she’d ever dreamed. And now, she’d spent six months aloft. And blown, simply blown! All of it! Fighting tears of frustration was even harder than keeping down breakfast.

  A hand lightly squeezed her shoulder. “Next time you’ll do better, Ensign.” The ship’s captain moved along, to stand behind the navigator’s station to watch the numbers spin out there.