by Chris Hechtl
Horatio shook his head. “I'm a firm believer in getting back on the horse ASAP, sir. To get over the fear and to show others I'm not going to let it bother me.”
“I see. Well, I mean it about the time off. The yard deputies are handling the load. You are hands off until medical clears you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Dismissed, Captain,” the admiral stated. The captain came to attention then about-faced and walked out.
---<>---<>---
“We damn near lost him,” the admiral murmured to Saul later. He couldn't get over that. Everyone was replaceable, but he'd learned to respect the old man.
“Yes, sir. But we didn't.”
“He needs to be careful. More careful. So do we. I want a review of everyone with safety violations. Anyone with serious violations are to get a brush up every three months,” he growled.
“That will play hell with the build schedules, sir,” the commander warned.
The admiral waved a dismissive hand. “I can't have this happen again.”
Saul realized that the admiral had started to warm to the captain. He nodded. He also hoped that got around to the officers and enlisted. If it did it might help morale and smooth things over with the forces in the star system. This just might be turning a corner he thought, hoping he wasn't jinxing or misreading the process.
Chapter 19
“Are you serious?” Admiral Frost demanded, glaring for all his worth at the two hapless lieutenant commanders standing in front of his desk. One meaty index finger stabbed down onto the blotter. “You two twits are telling me that a force has taken Protodon? A force of what, three destroyers and some support ships? And they took out Jean Bart and three of our ships?”
“Yes, sir,” Dutch said, finally glad the fat admiral had caught on to the obvious. “As you can see from our report and our recordings ….” He was feeling relief over the admiral's catching on. He'd had to fight through various levels of bureaucracy to get the admiral to talk to them and take the threat seriously.
Eight weeks and thirty-nine hours. That was how long it had taken them to get to the star system. A long drawn-out time period to jump the 12.4 light years, agonizing in that they'd been terrified that the enemy would be hard on their heels. At least Nuevo Madrid had a small repair yard; one that could theoretically rebuild the freighter.
He cut himself off when the admiral waved a curt hand for him to be silent. The admiral's pig-like eyes looked at Commander Kail. “Commander?”
“Sir?”
“And you support this?”
“I can't dispute it however much I'd like to, sir,” the commander said. She shrugged, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Dutch. They had butted heads a few times before the two of them had settled down. She still didn't like the man but they were fellow officers. She didn't have to like someone or respect them, but she did have to respect the uniform. He had to too, or so she kept reminding herself on a daily basis.
“Sir, what do we do? The enemy now controls the B-95a3 star system …,” Dutch said.
The admiral's eyes cut to him and then away. He snorted like a buffalo. “Ha! That piddly frigate? I'll send in my squadron to take it out. That's easy. But the problem is, it might retreat and call up reinforcements,” he said. He sat heavily. It became obvious to the two junior officers that the admiral wasn't certain what to do about that problem.
“I'm down to one courier. I can send it, but then we won't have one. And I just sent a damn courier in. There is no telling when I'll get any back.”
“And it will have to get past that frigate, sir,” Commander Kail stated.
“Thank you for reminding me of that,” the admiral said, shaking his head. “No, I'm not going to risk it.”
“Then what are we going to do, sir?”
“We're going to stand on the defensive. I'm putting my entire force on alert and on that jump point. If anything sticks its nose in, we'll chop it off as they materialize from hyper.” The admiral said. He put words to action, using his tablet to type the order out. He also ordered the shipyard to make repairs to the freighter and to freeze the expansion programs in favor of generating additional munitions.
Dutch nodded. Commander Kail smiled politely, but she had a shadow of doubt in her eyes that they'd be able to pull it off. After all, Earl Gumel had had four destroyers to the Admiral's one, though he had had less frigates. She silently shook her head.
“You disapprove, Commander?” The admiral asked, his accusing eyes locked on hers. He had obviously seen her slight headshake.
“No, sir. Sorry, sir, woolgathering. I was trying to game out the next move, sir,” the commander instantly replied, straightening.
“Your ship will be repaired, and then you are going to keep our forces on the jump point supplied. I'll look into packing some scrap or making improvised mines,” the admiral stated. Captain Kail nodded. She hid a satisfied smirk at the confirmation that she would retain command.
“And me, sir? Do you have a command or something for me, sir?” Dutch asked hopefully.
“I, um, don't have a command for your rank, Commander, nor orders to that effect. So for the moment I'll …,” the admiral frowned until an idea came. “I know what I'll do, I'll attach you to my staff! Yes, that's right, you can help us go over the battle in detail, pick it apart, and see what we can learn. Then we'll plug that data into what we have here to plug some holes.”
“Yes, sir,” Dutch said with a head bob. He fought to keep resignation out of his voice. At least he'd have access to the officer's club to drown his sorrows he thought.
“Are you going to send a ship to B-95a3 to scout it, sir? To get an early warning picket out?” Commander Kail asked helpfully.
The admiral grunted. “I'll think about it,” he finally muttered. She nodded, clearly annoyed by that. “Dismissed.”
---<>---<>---
“So, officer's club?” Captain Kail asked.
“Yeah. I suppose I should pack my things and get them down here. Sign in to guest BOQ and all that,” Dutch said. He tugged on his ear then used his pinky to work some dead skin or something out.
“Huh,” she said with a nod, looking away politely. She'd gotten him onto her side and working with her by the simple expedient of seduction. He wasn't her type; they both knew it. But he'd been smart enough to not look a gift horse in the mouth. Not many women actively courted him. And on Charlatan's Prayer there were few ladies to begin with.
His stocky body had a bit of stamina though. And he definitely could take some abuse. She had to admit she liked both. He'd taken some training though, which she didn't mind. Now he wasn't half bad in bed. All that slobber he generated was good for something she thought with a mental grin. “One for the road?” she asked simply.
He looked at her, licked his lips nervously, and then his eyes widened as she smiled slightly. His head began to bob as he caught on. She smirked as she saw the bulge in his crotch twitch right on cue. Easy picking she thought. She'd let him down easy after her fun, but the relationship might come in handy sometime in the future. At the very least, it got her mad out. His hide would heal. Eventually.
“Yes, ma'am,” he said eagerly as she took his arm.
“Good boy,” she purred as they walked back to the spaceport.
---<>---<>---
Admiral Frost nervously held the bottle as he stared off into the void of what could be a very short future. Most senior officers would see the departure of Rico and Cartwright as well as their captains as a blessing. Both officers had stuffed their commands with supporters as much as possible. That was par for the course. With the competition thinned out, it would mean more advancement for the likes of him.
Only he wasn't at all certain he wanted to be in the spotlight quite like that. It was one thing to go in against the dregs and conquer them. Quite another to go up against real opposition. Opposition that had taken out two good officers in the process of doing the same duty. The expectation to get it righ
t would be high, and the fall would be spectacular if he misstepped even slightly. Even just holding back could be construed against him in some quarters.
He licked his lips and then poured himself a drink. He had to think about it, game out all the angles. One thing he refused to do is panic he thought.
The one good thing about the situation was that high command would have to send him adequate forces. Forces sufficient to take on the enemy. He frowned and then sighed. No, they'd dispatch another admiral with said force of course he thought with a sour grimace. He downed the drink and then set the glass down a little harder than he had intended.
But … if they didn't get here in time … he winced. He had to do something more about the jump point. More defenses … but he couldn't spin crappy straw into gold! All he had was crap to work with to begin with! He shook his head.
His people were scrambling to go over the records that damn freighter had brought in. One thing was for certain, he couldn't use that turd Lefou, not with his reputation tainted by his captain's defeat. The stocky man was under a cloud and most likely knew it.
No, he'd have intelligence pull the man apart. Sit him down and get everything out of him, anything he could think of. Game the entire battle out several times. Pick it apart as often as it took to get as much data as they could. If Lefou could handle that and did well, he'd find something for him to do—garbage duty or some other crappy duty.
Come to think of it, Kail and the others had all been in the star system too, right? He nodded. Yes. And since their ship was banged up, they could sit around for a bit while his staff put an engineering team together to do something about that. So, they too could be interviewed. Good.
---<>---<>---
Moldy Crow jumped into the B-97a star system after 5.7 weeks in hyper. The wary crew watched anxiously to make certain the empire still controlled the star system. To their surprise a scan of the far jump point showed a ship about to jump. “It's small,” the sensor rating said.
“Raise it!” the earl urged.
“I can't, sir. She's spooling up her hyperdrive now. By the time a signal got to her, she'd be long gone,” the rating said. The earl looked at him and then to the communication's rating.
The young man sitting there spread his hands apart and shrugged. “He's right, sir.”
“Damn it,” the earl cursed, then went on cursing for several hours as they watched impotently as the ship charged its drive and then jumped.
“The good news is we might catch up to her in the next star system if we hurry,” the sensor rating said.
“If. Big if, which we can't do,” Captain Media said with a scowl. The earl turned to the big man. The freighter captain was wearing a worn blue sweater. It looked rather shabby and appropriate for the lesser man to wear. “We have to make our best speed to the jump point.”
“Best speed?”
“We have to balance our fuel against the hyper jumps. We'll have just enough if we …,” the captain played the numbers and then looked up. “It is going to take us five days to cross the star system.”
“And it will take them what, three?” the earl demanded.
“Three and a half judging from her speed, sir,” the sensor rating said.
“Who asked you,” the earl said, shooting his sour expression to the sensor rating. The young man hunched his shoulders and looked away muttering. “What was that?”
“Nothing, sir,” the young man said, hunching his shoulders as the earl moved in to cuff him or worse.
“Leave him alone. He can't change physics. We're just going to have to catch up.”
“To a courier? Not going to happen,” the earl sighed.
“Not until we get to Dead Drop.”
“Yeah,” the earl sighed. “Perfect,” he grumbled.
“Sorry, sir.”
---<>---<>---
A long time, Earl Gumel thought, a long time to get back to the empire. Months, nearly a half a year at the pace they were going at. Terrible, but it had to be endured.
What made it worse was that he'd ordered the captain to jettison his slaves. So, he as a “guest” had little to do to entertain himself. Go over his report? He'd done that every day for the first few weeks of the journey. Sit a bridge watch? What a dull bore. He couldn't squeeze out any more speed out of the tub; it had to be carefully rationed if they were to get to Dead Drop safely. No, let the captain handle it.
He sulked, pacing. What was he to do? He frowned. If he couldn't get in to any command to get his revenge he would surely go mad. Hell, he'd go mad just in his tiny cabin! He banged his fist on a bulkhead, leaning into it after a moment to stare at the wall.
After a few minutes, he sat down and scrubbed his face. Well, he could work out again, he thought, flexing his arm. It was healed but still sore. The tendons were painful when he overdid it. The same for his shoulder. But what else to do? His memoirs? Bah, he shook his head angrily. He flopped onto the bed and tucked his arms under his head. He'd have to think of something to do he thought in annoyance. Something to do even if it meant tormenting some pissant rating.
---<>---<>---
In the B-97C star system, Moldy Crow's crew was surprised to see the courier was still in the star system. “What the hell? Shouldn't she be out of here by now?”
“She's not pulling the speed like before,” Captain Media observed.
“Uh oh, it looks like she's limping,” the sensor rating reported. The rating tapped at his board for a moment then looked up and nodded. He put up a graph of the courier's previously observed performance and the current output.
“She must have broken something. She pushed it too hard I bet,” Captain Media murmured. “Com, put a whisker on her. Let her know we're here, and we have news,” he said.
“Tell them I'm here,” the earl said, striding onto the bridge. He pointed a thumb to his chest. “Better yet, put me on,” he ordered.
“Sir, they can't respond. They are over five light hours away,” the communication's rating stated. He shrugged when the earl turned a fulminating expression his way.
“He's right. But we do need them to carry our report.”
“Carry the report hell, I want them to carry me!” The earl said.
“And I'd gladly be rid of you. But that is a courier vessel over there. They are on a mission. They are also pretty tight quarters,” Captain Media said mildly. “You won't fit, trust me.”
“Trust you? Trust you??” the earl demanded.
The captain shrugged. “Or don't, it is up to you. I could care less. But I served on a courier in my youth. They have only so much room and can't carry someone else. Everyone has to pull their own weight,” he said with a slight barb in his voice.
The captain frowned. He'd done a few stints on the bridge before he'd gotten bored with the duty.
---<>---<>---
Ten hours later both senior officers had made it a point to be on the bridge when they got the IFF reply. “She's the HMCV-9913, a courier obviously, sir,” the communication's rating stated.
Captain Media nodded. The HMCV was standard on all new vessels. Up until a decade ago, it had stood for Horathian Military Courier Vessel. Now it stood for His Majesty's Courier Vessel. “Play the response.”
“Niner Niner one three to Moldy Crow. I see we just the missed excitement in B-95a3 according to your report. I think I can speak for the crew when I say I'm glad.”
“Cheeky,” the captain murmured.
“Transmit your full report to us. We'll carry it to Dead Drop ahead of you. Suggest if you can't make Dead Drop, you abort and return to Nuevo Madrid or head to SNHH.”
“I am not going to SNHH,” Captain Media growled. “That place is a pit. And they don't have a proper fuel dump or didn't the last time I visited,” he growled.
“Since we're already behind schedule, we can't spare the time to heave to. Please transmit your report immediately upon receipt of this message. Niner niner one three over and out.”
“Isn't thirte
en an unlucky number?” a rating asked.
“Yes it is. Which is why we say one three,” the helmsman said with a slight bite to his voice.
“Sorry.”
“So? What do we do?” the captain asked, turning to the earl. “We can turn around,” the earl shook his head, “or divert or keep going the way we're going.”
“We stay the course,” the earl replied, crossing his arms.
“Okay. I agree,” the captain said, settling himself into his chair. “Helm make it so. Communications get that report out to them. I want a copy of a receipt from them before they jump. Make sure you put that in the header. Anything you want to add?” the captain asked, turning to the earl as the other man stalked to the door.
“No.”
“Fine then. Comm, send it,” he waved a finger to the communication's rating. The young man nodded and went to work on his station. The captain turned to the earl. “Think we'll be seeing some backup soon?”
“The nearest naval station with a proper task force is in Finagle I believe. The forces in Dead Drop and SNHH are too small to do anything.”
“What about Garth?”
The earl shook his head. “The admiral in charge won't uncover the system and the shipyard there.”
“Yard?” the helmsman asked, turning in surprise.
“Classified,” the earl growled, glaring at the man. The helmsman gulped.
The earl looked away. A yard yes, but only a basic ancient civilian repair yard that had been found and partially restored. The project to exploit the native population and the rich asteroid belt in the star system had been cut off when El Dorado had been found and the repair yards in Blizzard, Nuevo Madrid, and Garth had been activated.
Dead Drop's tiny slip and yard had been mothballed once more since the three shipyards in the home system, the massive El Dorado complex, and the three derelict civilian repair yards that had been captured in Ponduck, Horus, and OTBP had all come online. He'd almost accepted a posting there in Dead Drop, but when he had found out it was a dead end, he'd declined it. Now he was regretting his mistake.