Battlecruiser Alamo: Aces High

by Richard Tongue

   “I think we can let the computer handle it this time. It’s only a five-minute ride.”

   “Aye, sir.”

   Looking him squarely in the eyes, Marshall said, “I’m sorry you’ve been incommunicado for a while. Doctor Duquesne thought you might need some recovery time after your ordeal, and I thought you could use the time to consider your position.”

   Nodding, he said, “I accept full responsibility for my actions.”

   “Indeed. You disobeyed orders, placed the station and my ship at risk, and precipitated a battle with a hostile vessel. Then you left your crew behind, quite literally tossing one out of an airlock, and in violation of fleet directives smashed your shuttle into that same hostile vessel. We'll skip over your refusal to respond to hails.”

   “Yes, sir,” he replied, with a sigh.

   “You realized what you were doing, I presume. This is what happened on the bridge all over again, Midshipman. You disregarding orders and following your own path, regardless of what your commanding officers thought.”

   “No, sir,” he said.

   “Oh?”

   “I was placed in command of the station following the departure of Lieutenant Nelyubov. I believe he will testify that I advised against him going on the mission, and that I requested to take his place.”

   “After some glory, Midshipman?”

   “No, sir. I am a cadet, not a real officer, as has been made quite clear to me on more than one occasion.”

   “And you think you were placed in a position you were not qualified to hold. Specifically, you think that this is the disaster at Phobos all over again.”

   Salazar closed his eyes, quietly replying, “What happened there was my mistake. I have never questioned that, and I have never ceased to accept responsibility for it. Just as I am perfectly willing to accept responsibility for my actions on the station. All I will say is that unlike what happened on the bridge, for better or for worse, I was the officer commanding.”

   “Quite so,” Marshall said. “Let’s talk about Phobos.”

   “What more is there to say?”

   Pulling a datapad out of his pocket, Marshall replied, “There was another reason I didn’t want to speak with you until now. I wanted a chance to go over the case files once again, and in case you are interested, so has Mr. Cunningham. We had a talk on the shuttle ride over, and I think both of us came to the same conclusion.”

   “I made a mistake.”

   “Yes, you did. We both conclude, however, that you should not have been placed in a position where you were able to make such a mistake, certainly not in a real-world environment.” Raising a hand, he added, “Not for a moment does that excuse your actions, nor does it mean that I think your court-martial was unfair. Let’s just say that both my Exec and I feel that there should have been more than one court-martial over the incident.” With a thin smile, he continued, “I’m going to guess you agree with that assessment.”

   “Only that it can’t be permitted to happen again, sir.”

   “Good answer. Mr. Salazar, having evaluated your record at the Academy, as well as my assessment of your performance on this mission, I must regretfully say that in my opinion, you do not in any way match my perception of a Midshipman in the Triplanetary Fleet.”

   “I see, sir.”

   With a deep sigh, Marshall continued, “That being the case, I am left with no choice,” he paused, reaching into his pocket, “but to commission you.” He handed Salazar a small, wooden box, and beamed a smile. “Congratulations, Sub-Lieutenant.”

   Salazar took the box, opened it, and tipped the contents into his hand. A set of wings, arched high. The insignia of a fighter pilot.

   “Silver eagles.”

   “Given some of the stunts you've pulled with a shuttle, and that you were set to pass your exams with flying colors prior to Phobos, it seemed reasonable enough to award you your wings. Moreover, it was the most expeditious way of commissioning you.”

   “I don’t understand, sir.”

   “Tell me, Mr. Salazar. What is the purpose of your tour of duty as midshipman?”

   “To gain field experience, sir.”

   “Partly,” he replied, nodding. “But that’s far from the whole story. When you graduate from the Academy, through a series of lectures, seminars, simulations and field exercises, you have the skills you need to be a commissioned officer. That’s the whole purpose of the training program, and speaking from experience, they’re usually very good at it.”

   He gestured back at the station, and said, “The reason we don’t just give you your commission right away is because of something that we can’t teach you, something that you can’t learn in books, something you don’t even know you possess. A question for you, Mr. Salazar. In one word, what is the most important aspect of being an officer?”

   “Responsibility, sir.”

   “Exactly. We need to know how someone will react under fire, how they will cope with the worst possible situations. Why do you think the best cadets get the front-line postings? We need to know what the pressure will do to them, and no matter how good the simulation, there is no replacement for real-world experience.”

   “I wasn’t the best, sir.”

   “I’ll get to that in a moment. What did you expect to happen following your court-martial?”

   “A dishonorable discharge, sir.”

   “And why didn’t that happen?”

   “I don’t know, sir.”

   “The presiding officer made it quite clear to me.”

   “To you, sir?”

   “Lieutenant-Captain Dietz is an old friend of mine. He indicated that he saw within you something that might be worth salvaging, something that could be worth keeping in the fleet. At the end of the day, you made a mistake, a critical one, but it was not lost on him that you should not have been put in a position to make it in the first place. So he slapped you on the wrist as hard as he could, and gave you a chance to screw up. When you managed to complete the Academy, you passed your first step on the road to redemption.”

   Shaking his head, Salazar said, “That road goes nowhere, sir. Not with those two lives on my conscience.”

   “I can’t tell you it gets any easier, son. It gets harder. A commanding officer is responsible for the lives under his command, and everyone you lose is slow torture.” He gestured at Alamo, and said, “We kept a lot of the details of my first mission under wraps, but I presume you studied at least some details of them.”

   “Heavy casualties, sir.”

   “Extremely. Thirty lives, right there. More at Desdemona, more at Jefferson, more still on our cruise through the Cabal. No matter the details, there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t wonder if I could have done better, made a faster decision, done something a little differently. I’ll do that for the rest of my life. That’s the price. The price we pay for wearing the uniform, and it’s a hard one. The biggest test of any officer is how he deals with it. Some crumple, break down, give up. Others face it head-on.” Clapping him on the shoulder, Marshall said, “You faced it earlier than anyone should.”

   “All that proves to me…”

   “Is that when the crunch comes, you do what must be done. Don’t think that I’m commissioning you for what you did out there. Crashing that shuttle into the enemy ship was heroic, but that’s the sort of thing we give out medals for. Not promotions. You got promoted because of how you handled yourself here.” He smiled, then said, “Though I must admit, I was fairly sure that you would act the way you did.”

   “I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

   “You don’t have to, Sub-Lieutenant. Not yet. You’ll still be learning, all your life. Let me tell you a little secret. No officer is a finished product, and the day he thinks he is, he should resign immediately as a danger to himself and others.”

   Shaking his head, Salazar said, “I st
ill don’t think I’m worthy, sir.”

   “No-one ever does. Nevertheless, you’ve exercised independent command, and you’ve done a good job. Good enough to convince me that you have what it takes to be an officer in the Triplanetary Fleet, and that being the case, I don’t see the need to make you wait for eleven months for the rank.” Turning to face the viewscreen, he continued, “Now, we need to work out what to do with you.”

   “Sir?”

   “Well, you’re still mine for a year.”

   “I assumed I’d be returning to bridge duty, sir. Back to the helm.”

   “I’ve still got three midshipmen, Mr. Salazar. Besides, they need their chance to prove themselves under fire, as well.”

   Salazar smiled, then said, “That’s why the helm is the usual position for a midshipman.”

   “Precisely. Just in case, you have a seasoned officer ready to take over at a moment’s notice, someone who can keep an eye on your performance. That officer needs to be battle-tested, cool under fire, and ready to exercise independent command, should the situation arise.”

   “It makes sense, sir, though I’d not thought of it that way.”

   “Of course not. In your heads, most of you middies are ready to command fleets and take on the galaxy when you graduate. Though you were different, I think. Now, most of the crew of Yeager Station are heading home as soon as it can be arranged, though a few of them have agreed to stay on for a while. That’s leaving me a little short-handed, notably in one key area.”

   “Sir?”

   “I’ve named Mr. Kelso Acting Lieutenant, and assigned him to command the station, at least temporarily. It might stick, depending on what sort of replacements we can get. That leaves a gap in the duty roster, and I think you’d be excellent choice to fill it.”

   “A watch officer?”

   “Why not? You seem to know how to run a battle.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “You said it was a place for a seasoned officer, sir.”

   “Isn’t that what you are, at least compared to others in your rank? It might well be temporary, depending on the situation over on the station, but I think you’ll have the job for a while.” A light flashed on, and he said, “Docking in one minute. You’ll find your new uniform hanging up in the airlock. Go and get changed. Lieutenant Grant is standing in for the moment, you might as well take up your new position right away.”

   “Now, sir?” he replied, eyes widening.

   “Alpha Watch is on duty, isn’t it?” He paused, then said, “I suppose I should make the point that no matter what happens here today, no matter what I put on your record, you’re always going to have Phobos on your back. Tomorrow, next year, ten years from now, people are going to bring it up.”

   “They’d be right to, sir.”

   “Perhaps, or perhaps not. If you want, you can leave right now, with your head held high, and an excellent record of service. Or you can go up to the bridge and take the watch. Your call.”

   Taking a deep breath, Salazar said, “I’ll stick it out, sir.”

   “Good lad. Now go and get changed. I’d hate to have to cite you for infringement of uniform regulations. I’ll handle post-flight.”

   Salazar paused, then said, “I don’t know what to say, sir.”

   “I believe ‘thank you’ is traditional.”

   “That hardly seems to cover it.”

   “Well, I’ll tell you what. You just carry on as you are. You’ve made a good beginning here, but it is just a beginning. You’ve got a long way to go, but I think you have potential. If you want to thank me, then make use of it.”

   “I will, sir.”

   “Oh, and as for what you were doing here in the first place, I pulled a few strings back home.”

   Salazar froze, replying, “But you said…”

   “I trust Mr. Dietz. He told me you were worth saving, but there wasn’t anything he could do to rescue you from a backwater posting. I, on the other hand, had other options.”

   This time he did know what to say. “Thank you, Captain. I won’t let you down.”

   Marshall turned back to the controls, guiding the shuttle up to dock with Alamo, while Salazar stepped into the passenger cabin. Just as promised, his new uniform was waiting for him, the tiny midshipman’s insignia replaced with the slender silver bar of a Sub-Lieutenant. He paused for a moment, then took off his jacket, swapping it with the new one.

   He didn’t feel any different. The same Pavel Salazar he had been a few minutes ago. Perhaps he was standing a little taller, something new in his eyes. Carefully folding his old jacket, he placed it on the seat, then stood in front of the airlock as the docking cycle completed, the hatch opening up onto the hangar deck, where Bartlett was waiting for him, a smirk on his face.

   “Payback, sir,” he said, “for throwing me out of the airlock. Now they’re really going to put you to work.”

   “Isn’t this insubordination?” he replied with a smile.

   “Probably. Congratulations, anyway, sir. I know the lads will be pleased.”

   “Oh?”

   “You should have seen the report Cookie wrote on you.”

   “I bet,” he replied, his face darkening.

   “Damn it, sir, it was like a love letter. You done good.”

   “Thanks, Ben,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’d better get to the bridge.”

   “Catch you in the mess later?”

   “Count on it, Spaceman. The first round is on you.” He stepped into the elevator, buoyant. For the first time since he’d arrived here, he felt at home, as though he was a part of the crew rather than just an observer looking in. Reaching into his pocket, he pinned his wings on his chest, and smiled. That was the difference. Not the rank, not the wings. He was part of the crew.

   The doors slid open, and Grant stood at the threshold, a scowl on his face. For a moment, Salazar thought he was going to stop him from entering, but instead he shook his head, stepping to one side.

   “The Captain has informed me of his decision to commission you,” he said. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

   “Thank you, sir,” Salazar replied.

   “Don’t thank me,” Grant hissed, too softly for anyone else to hear. “I think he is making a mistake, and I’m going to be watching you every step of the way. When you stumble, and you will, I’ll be there. Understand?”

   “Yes, sir.”

   Raising his voice, he said, “Well, Mr. Salazar, you have the deck.”

   Gulping, he replied, “Aye, sir. I have the deck.”

   Grant stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind him. He looked around the bridge, at the crewmen working at their stations, at the planet slowly revolving beneath them, and Foster sitting at the helm, muttering under her breath.

   “A problem, Midshipman?” he asked.

   “No problem. Sir.”

   “I’m very pleased to hear it,” he replied. “Steady as you go.”

   He looked at the command chair, empty at the heart of the bridge, and with two cautious steps, moved in front of it, carefully sitting down, testing his weight upon it as though afraid it would collapse underneath him. Leaning back, he looked out at the viewscreen again, Yeager Station just coming into the view, and smiled.

   Somehow, he seemed to get a flash of the future in his head. Of him sitting in that chair, his hair beginning to gray, lines on his forehead, more ornate insignia on his shoulders. That one day that this could be, would be, his ship. Something to think about, work towards, something for the future.

   For today, this would do.

  Appendix A: Alamo Senior Staff

  Commanding Officer: Fleet Captain Daniel Marshall

  Executive Officer: Lieutenant-Captain John Cunningham

  Operations Officer: Senior Lieutenant Margaret Orlova

  Tactical Officer: Senior Lieutenant
Helena Caine

  Systems Officer: Senior Lieutenant Jack Quinn

  Security Officer: Lieutenant Frank Nelyubov

  Astrogator: Lieutenant Peter Race

  Science Officer: Lieutenant Susan Carpenter

  Medical Officer: Sub-Lieutenant Adrienne Duquesne

  Deck Officer: Sub-Lieutenant Barbara Bradley (Detached Duty)

  Espatier Commander: Ensign Gabriel Cooper (Detached Duty)

  Appendix B: Ranks of the Triplanetary Fleet

  O10: Admiral

  O9: Vice-Admiral

  O8: Counter-Admiral

  O7: Commodore (Commandant)

  O6: Fleet Captain (Colonel)

  O5: Captain

  O4: Lieutenant-Captain (Major)

  O3: Senior Lieutenant (Lieutenant-Major)

  O2: Lieutenant (Lieutenant)

  O1: Sub-Lieutenant (Ensign)

  O0: Midshipman

  W2: Technical Officer (Warrant Officer)

  W1: Technical Sergeant

  E9: Master C. P. O. (Fleet Sergeant-Major)

  E8: Senior C. P. O. (Sergeant-Major)

  E7: Chief Petty Officer (First Sergeant)

  E6: Petty Officer (Staff Sergeant)

  E5: Junior Petty Officer (Sergeant)

  E4: Senior Spaceman (Lance-Sergeant)

  E3: Spaceman, 1st Class (Corporal/Senior Specialist)

  E2: Spaceman, 2nd Class (Lance-Corporal/Specialist)

  E1: Spaceman, 3rd Class (Private)

  E0: Recruit Spaceman (Recruit Private)

  (Equivalent Espatier ranks in parenthesis where present. Warrant Officer ranks in the Triplanetary Fleet are generally honorary, used for placing civilian personnel under direct military authority. Specialist ranks are restricted for medical or technical personnel from the Fleet operating under an Espatier chain of command.)

  Appendix C: Author’s Notes

  ‘Aces High’ is, in many ways, the culmination of a plan that formed in my head about a year ago, when it became obvious that the ‘voyage through the Cabal’ plot that began with ‘Not One Step Back’ and ended with ‘Ghost Ship’ was going to run longer than I had originally anticipated. Sending the ship and its crew into unknown space felt good, and though I knew that there was unfinished business waiting back home, the Cabal arc to – at least to a degree – resolve, I knew that I wanted to move the series back out onto the frontier, as rapidly as I could.