Cursed Command (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Captain . . .”

  “I said shut up,” Kat said. “This is not some fancy party in a fancy mansion where the only real concern is worrying about running out of fancy umbrellas for fancy drinks. This is a warship heading into a difficult situation, a sector that has good reason to dislike the Commonwealth and has the Theocracy stirring the pot. I do not have the time to mentor you into becoming the best XO in the Navy. I am certainly not going to cover for you if you’re not willing to learn from your mistakes and become a better officer!”

  She forced herself to calm down. “Choose now,” she said. “Leave or stay.”

  Crenshaw flinched. Kat could practically see his mind whirring away behind his handsome, characterless face. If he left willingly, there would be little hope of another posting, even if Kat didn’t write a scathing report on his failings. His career would go straight into the dustbin, no matter how many strings were pulled. If Kat had to kick him off the ship, it would be a great deal worse. A public court-martial for gross incompetence, dereliction of duty, disobedience to one’s superiors, and whatever other charges could be thrown at him would be impossible to rig, at least not quietly. Public outrage would make sure of it.

  “I’ll stay,” Crenshaw said.

  “Then do your fucking job,” Kat snapped.

  She leaned back in her chair. “And one other thing? I outrank you, socially as well as professionally. I will not tolerate you trying to use your social position to push my officers and crew around. If you do, I will relieve you of duty and send you packing. If necessary, I’ll stick you in the brig until we return home. Do you understand me?”

  Crenshaw swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Crenshaw said.

  Kat sighed. She’d never had that much respect for military protocol—she’d grown up in a mansion with far too many people bowing and scraping to her—but she couldn’t overlook it if her XO didn’t show her proper respect on the bridge. Or anywhere, really. Her officers would start to wonder what was going on . . .

  “Good,” she said tartly. “Now carry out your orders and familiarize yourself with the ship.”

  Crenshaw rose and saluted. “Yes, Captain.”

  Kat watched him leave, then glared down at her terminal. Crenshaw’s file was still open, mocking her. If his previous commanding officer had filed an honest report, Crenshaw’s career would have come to a shuddering, terminal halt long before Kat ever realized he existed. But the act probably would have cost the report writer his or her career too. Crenshaw was hardly the type to let bygones be bygones . . .

  And if he didn’t want to work, she thought, why did he even join the Navy?

  She cursed under her breath. She’d wanted to work; she’d wanted to prove, if only to herself, that she was more than just her family name. But Crenshaw . . . he didn’t seem to want to do anything. Had his family bullied him into joining the Navy? Or had he been more interested in fancy uniforms than doing his job? Hell, for all she knew, he’d never realized that he’d actually be expected to go to war.

  Stupid thought, she told herself, as she rose. Anyone could see that war was coming.

  But Admiral Morrison didn’t, her own thoughts reminded her.

  She pushed the thought aside as she headed for the hatch. There was no time to worry about her new XO, not when her ship was preparing for departure. She’d just have to keep a sharp eye on him and hope for the best.

  And at least he’s the XO, she told herself grimly. I was the captain.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “He’s not really a bad captain,” Crewman Roth Henderson said as he tossed a pair of gambling chips into the pot. “Is he?”

  Senior Chief Joel Gibson kept his expression blank as he studied his cards. Poker games made a convenient excuse for covert meetings, all the more so as hundreds of dockyard workers and new crewmen swarmed through the ship. Whatever senior authority might say—they’d be shocked, shocked, to hear that gambling took place onboard the ship—it was very common for gaming and gambling clubs to exist at all levels. And wise officers turned a blind eye, as long as the games didn’t get out of hand.

  And Joel made certain they didn’t get out of hand.

  He had to admit, to his private frustration, that Henderson had a point. Captain Sir William McElney was a good captain. A lesser man—an aristocrat—might have exploded with rage after discovering his ship’s condition, demanding miracles at one moment and threatening punishment the next. Or, if he had been a complete scumbag like Captain Abraham, he might have found a way to exploit his ship’s condition if he didn’t spend his days scheming to get transferred somewhere, anywhere, else. But Sir William was definitely a good captain.

  Too good, Joel thought as he tossed a chip of his own into the pot. He already has enough evidence to know there’s something very odd about the ship.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Crewwoman Jane Burnside said. “We’re committed anyway, aren’t we?”

  “Yeah,” Henderson said. “But . . .”

  “This isn’t the time for backing out,” Joel said. “We’re committed, remember?”

  Joel cursed to himself. Sir William, just by being a good commanding officer, had undermined all of his careful planning. Crewmen who wouldn’t think twice about mutinying against Captain Abraham and Commander Greenhill would hesitate to mutiny against Captain McElney, who clearly actually cared about his crew. And while he had banned anything illicit, he’d warned the crew in time to make sure that their illicit substances were lost long before the ship was searched from top to bottom—a practical approach, Joel had to admit, that had won Captain McElney a great many admirers.

  And we might even have called off our plans, he thought, if we weren’t committed.

  “I’m out,” Crewwoman Sofia Argali said. “Or should I be offering something more . . .”

  “Definitely not,” Joel said. Strip poker was fun, but now was not the time. “Take a seat and wait.”

  “Aw, come on,” Henderson said. “I’d like . . .”

  “Be quiet,” Joel ordered. “And if you want to raise the stakes, go right ahead.”

  He glared at Henderson until the younger man lowered his eyes. Joel felt relieved to know that he was still feared. He didn’t dare use force. Not now. Captain Abraham wouldn’t have paid any attention to reports of violence on the lower decks, but Sir William would probably turn the ship upside down to identify the culprit. Giving a crewman a clout instead of writing a disciplinary report was technically illegal, and he couldn’t afford to have anyone looking too closely at him. They’d wonder why his department was more organized than the rest of the ship.

  But we had to keep everyone alive, he thought. Captain Abraham would have killed us.

  Joel had no illusions about himself—he knew he wasn’t a good person—but threatening the ship’s life support was just plain stupid. Even pirates knew better than to leave the air scrubbers unchanged for months. The crew was lucky that Captain Abraham had died before he could sell off the next batch of air filters. Joel had gone to some trouble to create the impression of a failing life support system, but a real failure would have been disastrous. Everyone on the ship would have died.

  Except Greenhill, Joel told himself. That lazy bastard would have survived.

  “I don’t know if we can go ahead,” Crewman Thomas Rochester said. He took a pair of cards from the pile, his expression darkening as he studied them. “We’ve got a smart captain now.”

  Joel met his eyes. “And you’d prefer to wait and see what the IG uncovers?”

  “Well, no,” Thomas said, “but we’re not dealing with an idiot.”

  “No, we’re not,” Joel conceded, “but this does work in our favor.”

  He took another card himself and smirked. Hopefully, they’d believe he was well on his way to winning the entire pot.

  “We’re due to leave in four days,” he reminded them. “And we’re going to be heading to the Jorlem S
ector. There won’t be a better opportunity to take the ship and flee.”

  “There’ll be another cruiser right next to us,” Sofia pointed out. “A cruiser commanded by a genuine war hero.”

  “A single cruiser,” Joel countered. But she was right. The plan would have to be modified to deal with Lightning. “You want to bet that we can’t blast Lightning from point-blank range if necessary?”

  Henderson looked faintly sick. “Is that necessary?”

  “They can only kill us once,” Joel said reassuringly. “Why, they will have problems deciding just which one of our many crimes will be put on the death warrants.”

  “That isn’t funny,” Henderson protested.

  “No, it isn’t,” Joel agreed. Henderson would have to be watched carefully. “There shouldn’t be any need for it. I think we’ll be splitting up after we reach Jorlem. We take the ship and vanish.”

  He smiled, as reassuringly as he could. “Look on the bright side,” he added, “we won’t be having to flee the entire Navy.”

  “We could always stage an accident,” Sofia added. “No one will be surprised if this ship suffers a catastrophic failure in hyperspace.”

  “True,” Joel said. The truth would come out, sooner or later. But by the time it did, it would be too late. “Let them list us as being lost to ‘causes unknown.’”

  Henderson looked relieved but kept asking questions. “What if the IG insists on us remaining here?”

  “Then we slip out of the system before it’s too late,” Joel said patiently.

  “They do keep demanding to know when we’re going to leave,” Sofia said. “I don’t think they’ll hold us here unless they realize the truth.”

  “And in that case, we’re screwed anyway,” Joel said. He considered his cards and decided that victory was probably unlikely, but put another couple of chips in the pot in the hopes that they’d think he wasn’t bluffing. “All we can do is wait and bide our time.”

  “And see what the newcomers are like,” Thomas said.

  “Do not try to approach them,” Joel warned. “Some of them may well be spies.”

  “They certainly won’t have served on this ship,” Henderson agreed.

  Joel nodded. Uncanny’s crew had learned, all too well, that there was no point in reporting anything to higher authority. Captain Abraham and Commander Greenhill had set the tone for the rest of the officers, save for a couple who had been skillfully manipulated and corrupted. It was just like complaining to the teachers—tattling to the teachers—at a poorly run school. No matter what happened, he had been sure that his shipmates wouldn’t go telling tales. It would only make things worse.

  The newcomers, though, without that conditioning, would feel free to take their complaints to an officer who actually listened.

  “We can deal with new crew after we take the ship,” Joel said firmly. “For the moment . . . we keep an eye on them and see if we can pick out spies.”

  “If that’s possible,” Henderson said doubtfully.

  Joel snorted. He’d had Julia Transom download copies of their personnel files, but he rather doubted ONI would write “spy” into a crewman’s dossier. That would be foolish, particularly if they suspected that someone could gain access to the complete file. He’d skimmed a dozen of them himself, but there hadn’t been any obvious red flags. ONI would have devised the files to pass muster, he suspected. Doing the detective work to disprove the files, perhaps by contacting eyewitnesses, would almost certainly have tipped them off.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Joel said finally. “Once we take the ship, we can deal with the rest of the crew.”

  “Of course, sir,” Sofia said.

  Joel studied her with some interest. Sofia was strikingly beautiful, but she’d been transferred to Uncanny after turning down a senior officer’s advances. She’d been easy to recruit once he’d convinced her of his sincerity. She was far from the only crewmember with a grudge against society. It wouldn’t be hard to turn the survivors into a crew that would make any pirate proud.

  But I have a far grander plan than simple piracy, he told himself, firmly.

  He glanced at Henderson and Thomas, then raised the stakes again. Henderson looked back at him and then folded, tossing his cards back into the stack. Thomas frowned, clearly calculating the odds, then held up his cards. Joel allowed himself a moment of relief as his cards trumped Thomas’s—it could easily have gone the other way—and then started to collect the pot. It wasn’t as if the chips were worth much—he’d placed strict limits on just how much money could be gambled at any one time—but it was worth it.

  “Good game,” he said cheerfully. “Another?”

  “I have to be on duty in twenty minutes,” Sofia said, rising. “And I have to wear a proper uniform again.”

  “It could be worse,” Joel assured her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He watched her go, feeling a flicker of irritation. Sir William had insisted that everyone wear a proper uniform, and it was paying off. Uncanny’s crewmembers were thinking and acting like ranked naval officers rather than a mass of discontented humanity stuck in a flying death trap. Sofia had good reason to be suspicious of officers, of course, but would she start making exceptions? Or would she remain loyal to him?

  “We’d better all get back to work,” Thomas said. “Sir?”

  “Of course,” Joel said. He waved a hand grandly. “Dismissed.”

  He collected the cards while brooding. His inner circle was committed—after they’d murdered Captain Abraham, the death sentence was guaranteed if caught—but there were far too many others who might think they could switch sides safely. They might be right too. The Navy wouldn’t think too highly of anyone who plotted a mutiny, but any halfway competent defense lawyer would be able to point to the ship’s condition and use it as a justification for almost anything. Some of his mutineers might find a soft landing on the other side.

  But we have a golden opportunity, he told himself. If we keep our nerve . . .

  Uncanny had sat in her orbital slot for over six months, her condition slowly decaying into uselessness. It had been the one weakness in his scheming, no matter what he did. He could have taken the ship and powered up the gateway generator, but it would have attracted attention from Home Fleet. Slipping into hyperspace and making their escape wouldn’t be so easy if half of the Navy was in hot pursuit. He’d hoped for an enemy attack, which would have given him an excuse to take the ship out of orbit, but even that would have been chancy. Launching a mutiny during the chaos of a battle would have been madness.

  And now, the opportunity had just landed in his lap.

  Joel let out a breath as he headed for the hatch. His allies might be concerned, but it was no time to lose their nerve. They had no reason to suspect trouble, no reason to believe that they’d been detected ahead of time.

  We can do this, he told himself. And we can still win.

  “I thought you might want to see this, Captain,” Commander Christopher John Roach said as he pointed to the dismantled air filter. “As you can see, the component hasn’t actually decayed.”

  William frowned, silently grateful that Commander Roach’s promotion to Lightning’s XO hadn’t gone through. Roach was a steady man with combat experience and family connections that came in handy. He’d been supervising the repair effort for the past two days. Kat Falcone had good reason to be annoyed at losing him.

  “That’s odd,” he said slowly. “How do you account for the smell?”

  “There’s some clogging in other filters,” Roach told him. “But I would actually say the life support system is in good shape.”

  “How lucky for the crew,” William said sarcastically. “Did you find anything suspicious during the sweep?”

  “A lot of insect and rodent traces, sir,” Roach said. “I’ve got the crew laying down traps now, but I’d prefer to depressurize the hull and let them all die.”

  “I don’t think we have time,” William said. He m
et his XO’s eyes. “The Admiralty has signed off on all of our requests, Mr. XO, but they want us and Lightning out of here yesterday.”

  “They’ll get their wish,” Roach said. “The decay is nowhere near as bad as I was left to assume.”

  William nodded in grim agreement. He’d been anticipating having to explain to his superiors that Uncanny was in no fit state for anything other than a long stay in the shipyard, but he and his crew were actually on track to leave as planned. Yet, something was still odd. His first impression of the vessel had been of impending disaster—and the crew was still jumpy—but Uncanny could have been taken back into hyperspace at any moment. The more he looked at the situation, the more it puzzled him. Perhaps Captain Abraham had been a better officer than he’d assumed?

  “Make sure that all the filters are replaced anyway,” William ordered. The smell might have been caused by decaying animal filth, rather than too many clogged filters. “Do we have an update on the computer network?”

  “They refused to sign off on a new computer core, sir,” Roach said, falling into step behind him as they headed for the bridge. “But we do have a team of experts coming out tomorrow to inspect the system and make recommendations. Someone wasn’t updating the programming, it seems. Lightning is on V.7 while Uncanny is still stuck on V.2.”

  “That could cause problems if we have to run a united datanet,” William said.

  “It did cause problems,” Roach said. “The engineer believes that a mismatch in computer updates might have caused the friendly fire incident. It struck me as a little unlikely, but I don’t think anyone’s actually tried to put the datanet together on the fly either.”

  “We did have some issues when we were using the older ships for Operation Knife,” William recalled. “But still . . .”