Wolfhound

by Kindal Debenham

  “We have fights breaking out, people failing to respect officers’ orders. There have been thefts from our food storage, and even hacking attempts on the ship’s data centers. Some of them are even trying to get away with it by saying you want them doing whatever it is they’re doing, and so everyone has to come to you to find out. It’s a damn mess, and if this is how you’ll run things, I’d rather not wait to get killed in the next battle to escape it.”

  With deliberate, false confusion, Jacob raised an eyebrow and spoke. “I don’t really see how I’ve managed to cause all of that, Sergeant Ashford.”

  The Marine’s face was painted for a few beautiful moments in utter and complete confusion. Then he leaned closer, his face clouded with rage, just a few centimeters from Jacob’ own. “It’s because they obviously don’t think some jumped-up ensign who calls himself a ship’s captain is going to enforce any kind of martial order! They think this ship is a playground or a zoo, and it’s because you are the chief monkey. Does that clear it up for you?”

  Jacob blinked, a bitter smile coming across his face. He began to respond with a similarly bitter comment when an idea dawned on him. The bitterness leeched out of his smile as it became genuine. Careful to keep his voice even, he responded. “So in your opinion, the troops aren’t disciplined enough to follow a junior officer like me?”

  Ashford’s expression shifted, and he leaned back as if the friendly grin had made him uneasy. The Marine nodded and his mouth came open, but before he could continue his tirade, Jacob cut him off. “So how can we fix this issue, Sergeant?”

  The sergeant, his mouth already open, seemed to be caught off guard. His mouth gaped for a second, and then snapped shut. Suspicion clouded his expression for a moment, as if he smelled the trap. A moment later, he stood up straight and crossed his arms in front of him. “Perhaps a change of command would help, Ensign Hull.”

  Jacob nodded. “Perhaps. Unfortunately, it isn’t an option here. Please sit, Sergeant.” He kept his voice even. This has to work, or else I’m probably going to lose it before I finish that line. For a moment, Ashford was quivering with rage, his muscles in his arms bunching with unreleased tension. Then the man seemed to lose his momentum. He seemed to deflate more than sit into the chair behind him.

  As soon as the Marine settled in, Jacob stood up. He walked around the desk and leaned back on it. For a moment, the sergeant actually glanced towards the door as if considering a retreat, but Jacob cleared his throat to get the man’s attention back on him. “You’re right, Sergeant. Nobody’s going to look at a scrawny Engineering ensign as a figure of authority. The crew has just gone through a severe shock, and we are all feeling the pressure. If there’s a mutiny though, we’re all dead.”

  Ashford nodded, and looked up at him defiantly. “So why don’t you give someone else a shot?”

  “Because that way, we’re just as dead. The command has already changed once abruptly. They need stability.” Jacob held the man’s look for a long moment, watching the flare in temper rise and subside. “Until we can get out of this place, I’m your best bet.” He let the tone of his voice grow a bit colder. “Is that clear?”

  The sergeant seemed to be gritting his teeth for a moment, his eyes flashing with resentment. Finally, the words ground out of him, almost as if forced. “Yes, we’re clear.”

  Jacob nodded. “We still have the discipline problem, though. We need to crack down on this stuff, and I honestly won’t have time to deal with every petty dispute and shouting match the crew’s going to have in the next few days. I need a disciplinary officer who can handle the duties Lieutenant Commander Piebald used to do. Someone tough enough that the crew can respect them, even if they don’t respect me.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “Do you have a suggestion, Sergeant Ashford?”

  The sergeant’s eyes flickered as he thought, and sudden understanding dawned in his expression. He nodded slowly, hesitantly. “I think so.”

  “Good.” Jacob let himself break into a broad smile.

  “Two conditions, Hull.” Jacob felt his smile fade. “First. You don’t get to second-guess my decisions. Not on punishments, not on how complaints are heard or dealt with, not to get your little Isaac out of trouble. It’s my damn job, my damn rules.” Jacob nodded slowly. Wouldn’t want to undercut him anyway.

  Ashford nodded as if satisfied. “Second, I get to help make the decisions on a command level.”

  Jacob felt his face harden. “I’m acting-commander, not acting committee member. It’s not going to happen.”

  The Marine made a sour face and sighed. “Fine. I may as well accept you’re going to get us all killed. Just at least let me know how beforehand. How does that grab you, you frontier bastard?”

  His mind racing, Jacob stared Ashford straight in the eyes. He saw no sign of deception or conspiracy there. He wouldn’t undercut me by using the rumor mill against me. That’s not his way, it’s too roundabout. Slowly, he nodded. “I’ll talk things over with you before I do anything big. You get to talk it over with me, but final decisions are mine. You get final say on discipline, but everything else is mine until I say so. Sound all right to you, Ashford?”

  Sergeant Ashford nodded, a predatory smile breaking out across his face. He stood and stuck out a hand, shaking Jacob’s hand hard when he grabbed it. “Good dealing with you, Hull. Now let’s get to work.”

  Several minutes later, Sergeant Ashford stepped outside and bellowed the news to the crew waiting in the hallway that he would be receiving complaints and concerns in Piebald’s former office. Jacob watched as the expressions on many of the crewmen’s faces went blank, and his smile grew a bit. It grew a bit more when the line shifted to lead up to Piebald’s old door, which Ashford opened and walked into, along with the first two crewmen in the line.

  Jacob closed the door and walked back to the desk with a sigh. He reached for the key to reactivate the console and paused, tense. No knock came. Then, luxuriating in the peace and quiet, Jacob hit the button and got to work.

  Two minutes later, the cursing in the other office started. Technically, it probably started sooner, but it had taken a couple of minutes to grow loud enough for Jacob to hear it through the walls. It continued rising in pitch and viciousness, a spiraling crescendo of volume and vulgarity even Turley would have envied. Jacob felt his mouth drop open, and he stood and walked over to open the door.

  The door to Piebald’s former office slid open sharply, and Ashford stood shouting in the opening. “You are both out of your little damn minds! Bunking assignments? What the hell? Both of you little sons of whores are on a warship, not some damn passenger liner. Get out of here, and if either of you jackass princesses so much as squeak again in the next two weeks, you’ll be cleaning black water lines in the head for a month. Don’t just stand there. Get. The hell. Out.”

  Two pale-faced crewmen staggered out of the office, and proceeded to flee down the corridor. At the same time, about half the occupants of the line disappeared, suddenly finding something more urgent to deal with. Ashford, stalking out of the office with a satisfied grin on his face, his eyes focused on the unfortunate petty officer at the head of the line, a woman who looked too scared to think about escaping. Then he stopped, looked over and found Jacob watching him. The Marine lifted an eyebrow in challenge. “What?”

  Jacob shook his head. He knew it was a challenge to see if he would keep his part of the deal, and he wasn’t about to go back on his word. At the same time, he had to say something. “Nothing.” He paused. “You do catch more bees with honey than vinegar, though.”

  “Bees are pansies.” Ashford looped an arm around the petty officer with all the grace and triumph of a lion pulling down a gazelle. He dragged her into the office. “Next!”

  Chapter Eleven

  He spent the remainder of the day hammering out the new roster. Though Ashford’s cursing occasionally broke into his thoughts, he continued to punch through file after file, reading test results, previous rec
ords, and most helpfully, Commander Rodgers’ recommendations and comments.

  At the end, Jacob felt as if he had the collective lives of over fifty people bouncing around inside his skull, and he hadn’t even moved on to reading about the crewmen and Marines yet. In spite of the splitting headache, he forced himself to work on a new file, one that contained a chart showing the new organizational structure for the Wolfhound’s crew.

  At the top was his own name, with Sergeant Ashford’s name taking up the spot for the executive officer. Below that came the positions for the section officers, once occupied by lieutenants. The choices there were harder, but a few were easier than others. Laurie was an easy choice for the Countermeasures spot; her actions during the battle reflected her previous good record, and he doubted any of the other ensigns had the same natural talent for distributing the ship’s defenses.

  The Support section was a harder post to fill; Ensign Mensah would have been an easy choice, due to his multiple commendations, but with the wounded that the Wolfhound had on board Jacob didn’t want to distract the most competent doctor he had with administrative duties. He eventually settled on Ensign Timmitz, who, in spite of the earlier complaints, seemed more than capable of keeping the basics running.

  Engineering was another tricky problem. Ensign Caddamar in Life Support had a record full of demerits for insubordination and dereliction of duty, Ensign Gi from the reactor crew had been heavily wounded in the battle, as had Ensign Carver from the computer diagnostics crew. He finally settled on keeping Turley in the post for now, nominally as a stand-in for the still-recovering Ensign Gi, and hoped Turley’s record of disrespect and muttering wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

  Gunnery still had all four ensigns active, but the choice really came down to either Isaac or Taylor. Isaac had done a wonderful job during the battle, but a note from Rodgers pointed out Isaac would probably feel uncomfortable in a commander’s role since he was devoted to being a rebel. A long list of demerits and official warnings backed that observation up nicely.

  Taylor, on the other hand, had a natural charisma and a consistently good record with his gun crew. Rodgers’ notes pointed out a tendency towards stubbornness, but the commander had seemed to feel Taylor would have been a worthy second to the former Gunnery lieutenant. Reluctantly, Jacob put the ensign’s name in that spot, hoping Isaac wouldn’t feel too betrayed by the change.

  Sergeant Chiun rounded out the last part of the list as head of Security, Lieutenant Morris' former post. The remainder of the ensigns and petty officers remained where they were, though their duty assignments were shifted to reflect the loss of personnel who were now wounded or dead.

  When the reorganization was finally done, Jacob leaned back in his chair and studied it wearily for a moment. A sense of stubborn resignation filled him, and he hit the button to close the screen down. For a time, he simply sat there in the quiet office; Ashford had closed up shop a while ago, the remaining complaints either long since dealt with or discouraged.

  No use putting it off. I should just go and get it over with. Jacob stood slowly, feeling an ache from his back start to flare up his spine. He shook his head and slid the door open. Closing it behind him, he made sure to lock it before he headed down the corridor.

  He found Ensign Taylor as the Gunnery officer was leaving his quarters. The man’s cold gaze locked onto Jacob instantly, and he felt a sinking feeling. Doing his best to ignore it, Jacob motioned to the hatch Taylor had just closed. “Ensign Taylor, may I speak with you?”

  Taylor continued to stare at Jacob for another long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. Without a word, he opened the hatch and led the way down the ladder into his tiny cabin. When Jacob reached the floor, he found Taylor had sat down, arms folded, in the only chair. Jacob was left with the choice to either sit on the bed or remain standing. He bristled at the insult, but he had his feelings under control when Taylor met his eyes and spoke. “What is it you want, Ensign Hull?”

  The blunt lack of respect in his voice was nothing worse than what Jacob had suspected. He leaned back against the ladder. “I’ve come to inform you that you will be in charge of the gun crews from here on out. The other ensigns will be reporting to you as you run the gun drills.”

  Taylor’s face betrayed surprise. “I’m the Gunnery head? Not Isaac?”

  “That is correct.” Jacob paused. The other officer seemed quieter than Jacob had expected. “If you have any more questions or concerns, let me know.”

  Taylor remained silent, and Jacob gave a mental shrug as he turned to leave.

  As Jacob reached for the ladder, however, Taylor spoke. “This is not some attempt to buy loyalty, is it?”

  Jacob turned back. This time he wasn’t able to hold in a sigh. “No, Taylor. It isn’t. I just want the best officer in command for when we face the pirates again.”

  Taylor studied Jacob’s face, as if searching for a lie. Then all the tension went out of the Gunnery ensign’s shoulders, and he dropped his gaze. “You honestly think they’ll come after us again, then. It’s not just some ploy to hold onto command.”

  The resignation in Taylor’s voice surprised Jacob. He wondered what had brought about such a sudden change in attitude. “No, it’s not a ploy. They will be back, and we need to be ready for them.”

  “I know.” Taylor brought his hands together and clasped them in front of his face. His next words seemed difficult, as if he had to force them out. “Ensign Hull, I need to speak with you about our options. For when the next attack comes.”

  Curious, Jacob leaned back against the ladder again. He ignored the rungs as they dug into his back. “I’m afraid we don’t have many. After the damage we’ve done, they won’t accept our surrender anyway. We fight or we run.”

  Taylor shook his head. “Perhaps. But there may be another option, one that you wouldn’t expect.” The Gunnery officer hesitated, and when he spoke again he seemed to be carefully choosing his words. “The pirates might not ask for the whole ship. It might be that they only want one of us. Maybe that person might be of use as a hostage to them. Maybe they would accept our surrender if we promised to hand that person over.”

  The last few words left Taylor in a rush, and the ensign continued to avoid Jacob’s eyes. Jacob was glad for it, however, because it meant that the Gunnery officer had missed his mouth falling open in surprise. His mind flashed back to the chaos of the attack, to Morris and the pirates discussing their second target. It was him they wanted. He knows it.

  Then he recovered. Jacob shook his head. “No Taylor, I’m afraid that isn’t an option.”

  The other ensign’s head came up with a snap. “So you’re going to throw our lives away just for some foolish sense of pride.” Anger had started to color Taylor’s tone, and his expression had gone from neutral to hostile. “This isn’t some joke, Hull. It’s people’s lives you’re dealing with. The lives of our crew.”

  Jacob shook his head again. “I’m aware of that Ensign Taylor. At the same time, I have my orders. I am to get these people home. Not in a Telosian prison camp, not executed for daring to fight back, home. I fail to see how surrendering anyone to the enemy would accomplish that.”

  Taylor growled at him. “I never suggested that, but if the situation becomes hopeless it is better to be a prisoner than to be dead. They might not even ask for everyone. If it's just one person in exchange for everyone else—”

  A rush of frustration tore its way through him, but Jacob forced coldness into his voice. “I did what was necessary in the last hopeless fight, Taylor. I will continue to do so, and I will not abandon this crew, or any part of it, to the Telosians. Discussion over.”

  Taylor sat back. His eyes were filled with frustration, resentment and something deeper. Something miserable. “Get out, Hull.” Jacob opened his mouth, and Taylor gestured sharply to cut him off. “You’ll get your Gunnery drills and your obedient Gunnery officer. Just go.”

  Jacob closed his mouth. After another moment of sil
ence, he turned and climbed up the ladder. Better to leave the rest for another time.

  The next two assignments were much easier to deliver. He found Isaac and Laurie on their way to his office, and informed them of the changes. Laurie looked elated at her promotion; Isaac looked just as happy at his demotion. Jacob left them to celebrate while he continued to the next stop on his list.

  He came to the first access ladder a short distance before the ruins of the officers' mess. Opening the hatch, he scuttled down the ladder to deck two. He found it mostly deserted, though the air felt more sterile. Further toward the rear of the ship was where many of the storage holds were located, but his destination was closer to the bow, along the port side.

  As he approached he heard the hiss of pressurized air as a door slid open ahead of him. Ensign Mensah, his white medic’s uniform in disarray, stepped out, taking in a deep breath of air. The medic noticed Jacob approaching and nodded as if in approval. “Good. I was hoping you would come down here.”

  Jacob blinked. “Why would that be?”

  The ensign shook his head, a knowing smile creeping onto his face. “Looks good to be concerned for the crew, after all. You’re going to need that kind of support.”

  He felt a flash of indignation, but weariness strangled his response. “I just want to know how they are doing and talk with Ensign Gi. Is that fine by you?”

  Mensah raised an eyebrow at the weary response, and then nodded slowly. “Okay. Come with me then.” The medic led the way into the small medical suite. As Jacob stepped through the doorway, he caught the sharp, sickly smell of anti-bacterial chemicals and other sterilizing agents in the air. He could suddenly appreciate Mensah’s need for fresher air.

  The small medical suite held twenty narrow cots, with barely enough room in each niche for a minimal amount of equipment to be stored alongside each one. Twelve of those cots were occupied. The four other members of the medical staff made their way around the medical suite, checking on each wounded crew member before moving on to the next.