Battlecruiser Alamo: Aces High

by Richard Tongue

   Grogan nodded, and said, “Second salvo is heading for Alamo.” Then, with a smile, she added, “Two fighters destroyed.”

   “I’ve got things to do,” Marshall said. “Bridge out.”

   The image flashed across again, and Grant’s face appeared in Marshall’s stead. He looked down at Salazar with a sneer, and said, “You might be able to convince Danny Marshall, but I don’t buy this for a second. If your plan had gone wrong there was no second chance, no backup, and you’d have been responsible for the deaths of another eight people.”

   “I did…”

   “You obey orders. I told you to evacuate the station, and that’s what you should have done, not execute some Rube Goldberg bullshit. The next time that you disobey an order from a senior officer, I’ll see to it that you are court-martialed, and that the job is done properly this time. Before anyone else pays for your arrogance. Alamo out.”

   Salazar looked down, Bartlett reaching across to put a hand on his shoulder.

   “Don’t listen to him, Pavel. He’s wrong. Captain Marshall was happy enough, wasn’t he?”

   “Where the hell does that arrogant ass think he’s coming from?” Grogan asked. “You got the job done, and did it well. End of story.”

   “I killed two of his cadets,” Salazar said. “It was my mistake, my responsibility. I know exactly where he’s coming from, and he isn’t wrong.” He looked up at the escape pod controls, the red lights glaring at him, and said, “I could easily have got you all killed.”

   “But you didn’t,” Grogan pressed. “It worked.” With a quick glance at her board, she said, “Only one of the enemy fighters left, now. And just a single hit on Alamo, in a non-critical area. We won the battle.”

   “This wasn’t a battle,” Salazar said. “Just a little skirmish, and I could have got you all killed for nothing, for a station that isn’t worth a damn thing, around a burned-out rock in the middle of nowhere.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Secure from battle stations, will you, Grogan.”

   “Aye, sir,” she said, pulling out a microphone. “Operations to Station. Secure from battle stations. If anyone is interested, we won.”

   “Yeah. We won,” Salazar said. “You have the deck, Grogan.”

   “Where will you be, sir?” she asked.

   “I haven’t the faintest damned idea, Spaceman.” Looking up, he took a deep breath, and said, “Weapons Control. I want to see what’s wrong with those missiles. Next time it would be nice to be able to shoot back.”

   Nodding, Bartlett said, “I’ll get my toolkit.”

   “No, you stay here and finish up,” he replied. “I’ll be fine.”

   “Liar,” Grogan said.

   “Just keep an eye on things up here,” Salazar said, making for the door. “And you might arrange for the shuttle to be warmed up. If we need to bail out, I’ve left us with only one escape route.”

   “Pavel,” Grogan said. “He was wrong.”

   Shaking his head, Salazar left the room.

  Chapter 16

   “Damage report, Mr. Quinn?” Marshall asked, walking into the engine room. Technicians were bustling about, moving from console to console, checking readings and making adjustments.

   Turning to face him, Quinn said, “Nothing too bad, skipper. The missile caught us in the aft sensor levels. Mostly superficial damage on the hull armor, but I’ve got another work crew out on the hull checking over the sub-systems. That’s why we’re a little short-handed in here today.”

   “Time to repair?”

   “About two hours, total.” He walked over to a display, and said, “We’re about ready to launch the fuel pod as soon as you give the all-clear, as well as the missile escort. I’ve gone over the figures again, and I’m pretty sure we can do that part from this orbit.” Pointing at the rear of the pod, he said, “I fitted the engines from three missiles onto it. Estimated time to the surface is a hair over five minutes. As for the shuttles, that’s going to be trickier.”

   “That’s when they’ll attack,” Marshall said. “We picked off another of their probes before I left the bridge, but they’re replacing them just as quickly.”

   “As are we. There isn’t much we can do about that, I’m afraid. If we still had fighters, we might be able to put those on station, but as it stands we’re going to have to take the few glances we can. Though I did have an idea.”

   “I was hoping you’d say that.”

   “We could use the same basic package as we are for the fuel dump to land a tracking station up on the moon. They’d have to go out of their way to knock that down, and we’d certainly get plenty of warning if they were.”

   “Enough that the replacement could already be on the way.” Nodding, Marshall said. “How long to build it?”

   Briefly cracking into a smile, Quinn replied, “If I don’t stop for lunch, we might get it done in a few hours. Easier than the fuel pod, we don’t have to worry about heat shielding and precise trajectory control. Anywhere on this side of the moon will be just fine.”

   “Get working on it. Anything else I should know about?”

   Passing over another datapad, he said, “Cook sent over a report of the repairs on Yeager Station.”

   “And?”

   “Sir, Cook sent it. Not Salazar. I tried to have a word with him, but Bartlett said he couldn’t be reached.”

   “Maybe he was in the head.”

   “I don’t know. One more thing to worry about, I guess.”

   “That station is way down my list of priorities.”

   “I think that might be a mistake, sir,” Grant said, walking in, Tanner in tow. “I’m at a loose end here. Request permission to assume command of Yeager Station.” Gesturing back, he said, “Tanner can come with me.”

   “How do you intend to get there?” Quinn asked. “Walk? We’ve only got the SAR shuttle left, and I seem to remember that regulations require us to keep that for emergency use only.”

   “We could float across,” Grant said. “It’s only a mile. I’ve done longer spacewalks.”

   “What’s the urgency?” Marshall asked.

   “You heard Mr. Quinn. Salazar’s handed over his command to a Petty Officer. Evidently he’s in over his head, and his activities during the battle…”

   “Were commendable,” Quinn said. “That was quick thinking in a crisis. Fooled the hell out of me.”

   “And me,” Marshall added.

   “Nevertheless, sir, I am available, and have the rank to do the job. Mr. Salazar does not impress me, Captain, and requires supervision. Field regulations support me on this.”

   “You want to know what doesn’t impress me?” Marshall replied. “Junior officers attempting to give me lectures in how to do my job. Lieutenant Nelyubov will take command of the station when he returns from the surface, unless one of the station’s own officers is in a fit condition to do so. Given that we expect to have them back in four hours, I don’t see this as a critical problem.”

   “Captain…”

   “Your objections and concerns are noted. Dismissed.”

   “Relax, Pete,” Tanner said. “You did ride the kid a bit hard.”

   “Excuse me?” Marshall asked.

   Tanner looked at him, a deer caught in the headlights, and said, “Nothing, skipper.”

   “No, I’m extremely interested.”

   Quinn turned back to his console, typing away, and after a moment, said, “I’ve got the communications logs, Auxiliary Control to Station Operations. Want me to play them?”

   “I informed Mr. Salazar that I thought his actions were reckless, and that he was jeopardizing the lives under his command,” Grant said.

   “Mr. Quinn, I’d like to borrow your office for a moment, if I may. And your presence as well, if you can be spared.”

   “Delighted,” he replied.

   “This way,” Marshall s
aid, gesturing towards the nearest door. “You too, Mr. Tanner.”

   In all the years he had been on Alamo, Marshall couldn’t remember ever seeing Quinn’s office. Somehow, he’d expected the shambolic mess that his own office was perpetually in, but everything was neat and precise, all in its place. Including the image of Quinn’s late wife, surrounded by a black border, hanging on the wall. The door slid shut behind Tanner, the last one in the room.

   “Captain, I…”

   “What in God’s name did you think you were doing, Lieutenant? Mr. Salazar is outside your chain of command. Mr. Quinn can criticize him. Mr. Cunningham can criticize him. I can criticize him. You cannot. If you have concerns about him, then you go through his division officer or directly to me. You do not speak to an officer in front of his men and tell him that you think he’s going to get people killed.”

   “He is,” Grant replied. “I watched it happen the first time. He shouldn’t be here, sir, and he shouldn’t be wearing the uniform, and he certainly should not be in any position of responsibility, or you are as much to blame as he is when something goes wrong.”

   “Captain Marshall will tell you how reluctant I am to risk my people,” Quinn said, glancing up at the picture of his wife. “Salazar’s already rescued one of mine, and took a risk to do it, and what he did on the station was sound tactical judgment.”

   “He should have followed my orders, boarded the shuttle, and returned to Alamo.”

   “You gave him an order?” Marshall asked.

   “Yes, sir, I did.”

   “And he disobeyed?”

   “Yes, sir. And I formally wish to…”

   “Good,” Marshall said.

   “What?” Grant replied.

   “You had no right to give him that order. He reports to Mr. Quinn, and then to me. Not to you. When I asked you to keep an eye on things over there during the battle, I meant you to offer advice, not try and micromanage him.”

   “Besides, what makes you think that the shuttle would have fared any better than the escape pods?” Quinn asked.

   “We could have provided him with cover.”

   “That would have been a hell of a lot easier if we still had fighters to escort him back.”

   “We were tactically outmatched.”

   “No you weren’t. I’ve been in that seat, I’ve ridden fire, and you can fool a lot of people, but not me. And for the record, Mr. Quinn has fighter wings as well.”

   “Is that all, sir?”

   “No, it isn’t. You want to speak your piece? Get it over with, right now, and it had damned well better be the last word I hear on this subject.”

   “Two of my cadets are dead, and he killed them,” Grant said. “I was there, and I watched it happen. The court-martial was lenient, for God knows what reason, though I attempted to appeal. I did pull strings to put him somewhere where he could do no harm, but for some reason that decision was countermanded, and I intend to find out why. He is a danger to this ship and to any people unfortunate enough to be under his command. That’s all, sir.”

   Taking a deep breath, Marshall said, “You’ve made your objections clear. Do you want me to note them formally?”

   “Wait a minute, sir,” Quinn said. “That will go on Salazar’s record.”

   “So it will, but ultimately I have the final decision on whether he gets to face the Commissioning Board or not. Besides, the regulations provide Lieutenant Grant with this option, and I am duty-bound to offer it.”

   “Thank you, sir. I so request.”

   “I will enter it in the log.” He paused, then said, “Along with my belief that your performance in the battle was substandard, and my recommendation that your flight waiver not be extended. I believe it comes up again in three months, does it not?”

   “Wait a minute,” Grant said. “That isn’t fair.”

   “I think it’s very fair,” Quinn replied. “And is the Captain’s decision.”

   “What about Tanner?”

   “Anything to say, Sub-Lieutenant?” Marshall asked.

   “I screwed up, but no-one got hurt. No fighter pilot thinks he’s anything but the best, so I guess I’m not qualified to sit in judgment on myself. I’ll leave that to you. Sir.”

   “Not a bad answer. At least you’re willing to admit you made a mistake.” Turning back to Grant, he said, “You will continue in your station at Auxiliary Control, and will not communicate with the station again unless I expressly order it. Is that understood?”

   “This is a mistake, sir, and people are going to get killed as a result.”

   “Do you understand my order, Mr. Grant, or do I have to relieve you of duty?”

   “I understand, sir.”

   “Then dismissed, both of you.”

   Without a further word, Grant walked out of the door, Tanner lingering for a while, watching his friend storm out of the room. He turned back and shook his head.

   “I’ve known him for years, sir. He’s...he feels responsible for what happened. He cleared Salazar to lead that flight.”

   “Then he made a mistake as well,” Quinn said. “I didn’t see anything about him standing up to take blame during the court-martial records.”

   “He just…”

   “I understand, Mr. Tanner. Believe me, I do. And if...when he calms down and changes his mind, you can tell him that I’ve forgotten to update my log, and that I probably won’t get around to it until this evening.”

   “Thank you, sir.”

   “Dismissed.”

   Nodding, Tanner left the room, and Marshall dropped down into a chair, looking up at Quinn, who moved over to sit behind his desk.

   “No point ending his career for nothing.”

   “Will it?”

   “He isn’t going back to the Academy any time soon, and if he doesn’t have a flight waiver, the fleet won’t use him operationally. All he’s ever done is fly fighters. No other assignments at all, not even Staff College.”

   “Captain, this isn’t for the record, but…”

   “If he keeps his waiver, I can find him an operational job that doesn’t involve riding fire, but keeps him out in the field. Tanner’s another story, at least, if he chooses to be. Though that isn’t the real issue, is it?”

   “You’re worried about Salazar.”

   “He seems competent enough, and if it hadn’t been for what happened up on the bridge, I’d be pleased with his performance. I’m not sure I trust him, and he can’t hide away on the station forever.”

   “Want me to have a word with him? Technically he is my deputy at the moment, after all.”

   “No, let it be. He’s going to have to deal with this, or not, sooner or later. I just wish it didn’t have to be now. Not with an enemy ship hanging around, waiting to strike.” Looking up at the picture again, he asked, “What about you?”

   Sighing, he said, “I’m hanging on, same as always. It hurts, though. Like hell. I guess it always will.” Shaking his head, he replied, “Though if she was here, I suspect she’d be telling me to snap out of it and get on with my job.”

   “Not bad advice, Jack.”

   “Don’t worry about me, Captain. I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll do my job. And when Salazar gets back I’ll see if I can turn him into a real officer for you. He’s got potential, that’s for sure. More than the others, from what I’ve seen.”

   “The only question is whether he wants to use it.”

   “This still isn’t the real issue though, sir. If you don’t mind me saying so.”

   Nodding, Marshall replied, “You’ve known me too long.”

   “I’m worried about them down on the surface as well. I...somehow...found the time to take a look over the data that our first probe sent up, and as far as I can tell everything should be working. Which doesn’t mean anything other than that the jamming field is extremely sophisticated.
I’d suspect our old friends in the Cabal, but they’ve never managed anything like this.”

   “What about Harper?”

   “Buried in her cubby-hole with emergency rations and datapads. Given enough time, she might come up with something.” He paused, then said, “Tell me something.”

   “What?”

   “Are you planning to fight to the last in this system?”

   Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Not once we’ve got our people up from the surface. Not unless I find out that there is something worth dying for out here. If they want a barren wasteland so badly, they can have it. Until we assemble sufficient overwhelming force to retake it without serious risk, that is.”

   Nodding, the engineer replied, “I’m glad to hear you say that. I was beginning to wonder.” Looking down at his watch, he said, “We’re getting close to launch time. You still want to commit to this?”

   “With enemy forces closing in on them down on the surface, the sooner the better. You can start the countdown just as soon as you are ready.”

   “I’ll go pass the word,” Quinn said. “And don’t worry. You’ve got the right people on the surface to get out of this sort of a scrape. They’ve done it before.”

   “I know. I’d still rather be down there myself.” He stood up, tugging on his jacket, and said, “I ought to be on the bridge.”

   “No need for a little while. Why don’t you head up to the mess instead, get something to eat. Cunningham can handle the drop, this part is just routine. You’re going to need to be fresh when we make the pickup.”

   “You’re probably right at that. Tell me, are you and the Doctor working together?”

   “We’ve got the same job, skipper. Keep the machines on this ship in good working order. Biological or mechanical, what’s the difference?”

   “Thanks, Jack. I mean it.”

   “We’ll get through it, sir. Have faith.”

   He walked out of the room, leaving Marshall on his own. He glanced up at the image of the dead woman on the wall, trying to picture her when she was alive, before he’d sent her on the mission that led to her death, just a few months ago.