“But sir, with all due respect, the leak isn’t the biggest problem we’ve got.”
“Don’t worry, Ensign, I haven’t forgotten about our friends back there with the whiskers and tails. I just haven’t figured out what to do about them yet.”
“Hey! Cho!” Recruit Spacer Second Class Antonio “Doozie” Balduzzi yelled down 37.9 meters of access crawlway to his partner, Able Spacer Third Class Cho Jintao. Fortunately, he had a powerful set of lungs to carry his voice over the distance, particularly with the profusion of humming, buzzing, chirping, clicking, whizzing, whumping, and even, occasionally, banging equipment between the two men in the confined space.
“Yeah, what?” Cho’s powers of projection, though not quite on par with Balduzzi’s, were still quite impressive. Neither man had any difficulty hearing the other. It never occurred to either to use their percoms to open a voice channel.
“This one’s running at 73 percent, and the one before was running at 77.”
“Damn, Doozie, I’m seeing the same thing. The last one I checked was at seventy-five, and the one before that at seventy-two.” Doozie crawled aft to the gravity generator regulator that controlled the gravity generators the two men had just checked. Cho was running a diagnostic routine on the mechanism and was getting nothing but green lights.
“I bet every one in this series is doing something similar.”
“I’ve got the same feeling, but I’ll be a Pfelung’s grandmother if I can tell you why,” said Cho. “I’ve just run two diagnostics on the regulator. It checks out across the board. The machine is clean and green.”
“What do you do in this situation?” Because he fell below the ship’s proficiency average in his specialty, Doozie had never been sent to work on an equipment problem that wasn’t instantly diagnosed by the computer or that turned out to be a straightforward fix involving swapping out a board or a module.
“Well, babe, what I normally do in this situation is I call Petty Officer Liebergot. Him or Aaron. They’re the “hottie Scottys” on all the electrical/environmental subsystems, and the gravity generators are right down Liebergot’s alley, but they’re both off limits today because of the skipper’s new training thing.”
“Is there anyone else we can call?”
“At 02:27? Any man not on the White Watch is in his rack inspecting his eyelids for photon leaks. So, my friend, you and I are the White Watch experts on this system. For better or worse, it’s you and me, babe.” Doozie was starting to get annoyed at Cho’s habit of calling him “babe,” but he did his best to overlook it.
“Can we leave it to the next watch? You and I and everybody else know that the Blue Watch has got a lot more on the ball than we do in White. I’m sure there’s someone in that bunch that can straighten this out.”
“Invalid input, babe. Two reasons. One, the work order came from Lieutenant Brown himself and he marked it ‘Resolve this Watch,’ which means it gets done before end of watch or we die trying. We don’t get to hand it off to someone else. And two, there’s a real safety issue. Think about it, Dooze: a man steps from one G nominal through a gradient that’s only a millimeter or two wide into a zone that’s point seven three Gs, and then skips down the corridor literally light on his feet for about forty meters and then hits one G again without warning. You think he might have a chance of tripping, especially if he’s carrying something?
“And not just any schmo either, but a shipmate. You want some guy you bunk or eat chow with laid up with a broken ankle or a concussion because you passed the buck on a work order? For me that’s at least a forty, light year guilt trip and I’m not up for it. You?”
“Nope. Don’t want to make that trip. I don’t even want the T-shirt. I’ve had enough of that to last me at least till the end of this war and probably well into the next.” He sighed heavily. “Well, Cho, what do we do then?”
“You got your padcomp on you, Dooze?”
“You think I’m crazy? Of course, I do. It’s a regulation, isn’t it? Besides, I don’t want Lieutenant Brown to catch me without it after the way he skinned ‘Wacky’ Waechter the other day.”
“I heard about that. Everyone said it was an ass chewing of truly legendary magnitude, babe. Well, you’ve got yours and I’ve got mine. Let’s put ’em to use. How about we sit right here, I hit the repair and maintenance database, and you hit the maintenance board archives and help boards. Someone, somewhere, has either had this problem before or thought it might come up. I bet if we follow in their footsteps, we can figure this out, babe, you and me.”
“Cho, that sounds like a plan.”
At the stroke of 09:00, about six hours after Cho and Doozie started to get the upper hand in their epic struggle with the gravity generators, the patients and staff in the Casualty Station witnessed an event unprecedented in the history of the Cumberland. First, Zamora, Ulmer, and four other enormous Marines almost their equal in size marched into the compartment in their emerald-green dress uniforms, complete with drawn ceremonial sabers in their right hands and resting on their right shoulders, followed by Major Kraft, also in his dress greens and also carrying his saber.
Kraft led the detail along the equipment lockers that lined the left side of the compartment as viewed from the patient beds. “Company, HALT,” Kraft ordered, his parade-ground voice dialed back eight or nine notches in deference to the presence of wounded. The Marines all halted on the same step, their brilliantly shining boots snapping to the deck in unison with a satisfying stomp.
“Left HACE!”
They pivoted like separate parts of a single machine to face the center of the room.
“Atten-HUT!”
Boot heels snapped together. The Marines were now rigidly erect and perfectly immobile, more like robots awaiting orders than human beings.
As though cued by the snap of those heels, Captain Robichaux led the senior officers, DeCosta, Brown, Dr. Sahin, Kasparov, and Sauvé, into the compartment. Wearing their dress whites and carrying their dress sabers, they lined up across from the Marines, also at attention. The only one with his blade sheathed was Max.
He scanned the room, seeing first the five men from Auxiliary Fire Control in patient beds to his left. They were being treated for internal bleeding and other injuries caused by the shock wave that had breached the hull in that compartment, as well as for exposure to near vacuum and cold before Midshipman Park had sealed the hull breach. Five more men were in other beds, all being treated for various wounds, none serious, sustained at the Battle of Rashid V B. They would all be returning to duty within the week. Four more were resting out of sight nearby with sheets pulled over their faces. Their duties were done.
Near an empty patient bed was Midshipman Park, who had on some pretext just been helped into a wheelchair by a nurse. Park was wearing the blue standard-issue Navy pajamas that, but for the thinness of the fabric and the presence of slippers rather than boots on his feet, would look very much like a uniform. Park had some ugly bruises and the whites of his eyes were spidered with burst blood vessels from exposure to near vacuum. Cotton protruded from one ear canal to protect a ruptured eardrum. Ointment covered his nose and ears where he had been frostbitten by the cold of space. He looked as though he had been roughly handled. But he sat up straight in the wheelchair and watched the ceremony taking place in front of him with enthusiasm and wonder. Park Dong-Soo was bloody but unbowed.
Max looked at the small boy, who practically vanished in the wheelchair made for a fully grown man five or six times his bulk, and barely managed to repress a smile. With all the gravity he could summon, he announced, “Midshipman Park, front and center.” Nurse Church wheeled Park to the center of the space between the line of Navy men and the line of Marines as Max marched to stand just in front of the same spot. Park’s face wore a look of bewilderment.
Max continued in his “official” voice. “As you all know, almost every
aspect of what we do in the Navy is governed by a great many rules and regulations. The same is true for the awarding of medals and citations. Most citations can be awarded only on the authority of flag-rank officers, Norfolk, or the Commissioners of the Admiralty, and only to personnel who have attained at least the rank of able spacer. There are, however, a very few awards that can be given on the authority of a warship commander to individuals under his command, irrespective of rank.
“Because the temptation to give awards to men with whom one serves closely is very great, most warship commanders make such awards very sparingly and only for conduct of the most conspicuously outstanding nature. It is my honor, and my pleasure, to recognize such conduct today.” He reached into his tunic and produced a small box that he opened with gentle reverence.
“ ‘For meritorious service and superlative achievement, performed at grave risk to his own life, exemplifying resourcefulness and courage in the highest tradition of the Service above and beyond the call of duty, Midshipman Third Class Park Dong-Soo is awarded the Navy and Marine Achievement Medal, Combat Grade.’ ”
Max extracted the medal: a twelve-pointed bronze star, embossed with the silhouette of a battleship from the First Interstellar War superimposed on a silver-rayed sun, hanging from a blue ribbon bearing seven tiny gold stars. A large gold-plated letter “V” was pinned to the ribbon, symbolizing that the award had been earned in combat.
Max bent down, pinned the medal to Park’s chest, and came back to attention. The rather modest medal looked almost absurdly large on the boy’s tiny torso. “Company. Sa-LUTE!” Max brought his right hand to his right eyebrow in a standard salute, while the rest of the company flashed their sabers to the salute position, hilts held in front of them just below their chins, blades held vertically in front of each man’s right eye, cutting edge to the left, elbow tucked close to the body. The gleaming blades sent reflections of the bright Casualty Station lights chasing each other over the equipment lockers and banks of medical equipment.
A stunned Park returned the salute. Max snapped his hand down. The men with sabers whipped them down by their right sides, the twelve keen blades making a faint but distinct swish.
Max did a precise about face and marched out of the compartment. “Shoulder ARMS,” ordered Kraft. Each man brought his saber back to his shoulder.
“First detail. Right HACE!”
The naval officers performed a reasonably good turn.
“Detail, MARCH.”
They marched from the compartment.
“Second detail. Left HACE.”
The Marines pivoted perfectly to face the hatch.
“Detail, MARCH.”
They marched out, followed by Kraft, who closed the hatch behind him.
For ten seconds or so, the Casualty Station was silent except for the sounds of the ship itself and the quiet beeps of the monitoring equipment connected to some of the casualties.
“Here, let’s get you back in bed, young man,” said Nurse Church who had suddenly appeared at Park’s side. “I think that’s enough excitement for you this morning. In a few hours, when the captain’s steward brings us the box, we’ll put your medal away for you and have someone put it in your space chest where it will be nice and safe.”
The boy quickly clapped his hands over the medal and shook his head vigorously, a determined smile on his face. He wasn’t giving it up without a fight.
* * *
CHAPTER 9
* * *
06:06Z Hours, 21 March 2315
The senior officers group was gathered in Max’s day cabin. Although these gatherings were not scheduled and did not occur at stated times on stated days, they were becoming a fixture in the ship’s routine and in day-to-day management of the Cumberland’s affairs. Not only was having these five men—Max, DeCosta, Kraft, Brown, and Sahin—in the same room at the same time once every few days a good mechanism with which to make sure that the right hand knew what the left was doing, but Max was convinced that he owed a great deal of his effectiveness as a commander thus far to the advice and assistance of these men.
Admiral Hornmeyer had, to a large degree, made up for assigning Max to a problem ship with a troubled history and crew by giving him this truly exceptional command team. Max knew very well how lucky he was to be surrounded by officers of this level of ability. The more he thought about it, the more he expected every man in the room, including Dr. Sahin, to achieve very high rank someday. He was coming to count on them, as they were coming to trust him.
Max usually brought them together early in the day, saw that an inexhaustible river of coffee flowed into their mugs, and fed them all a hearty breakfast of their choice. It didn’t exactly make them happy to be there, but it did tend to put them in a better frame of mind.
“Well, gentlemen,” said Max when everyone had eaten and was sipping their coffee, “we’ve had the Sweet Seventeen out of the mix for six hours or so now. Any effect yet?”
“The hull hasn’t come apart at the nanowelds, if that’s what you mean,” said Brown. “It’s been too short a time to see much of an effect. There are, however, some signs that may be harbingers of good things to come. Two men who I thought were probably not up to the job managed to diagnose and repair subnominal output from a string of gravity generators on C deck. The malfunction was a pretty oddball one too. When I read the summary of the problem in their log I was surprised they managed to figure it out.”
In response to DeCosta’s questioning look, he explained, “A sensor emitter—a completely separate system—had a graviton leak that was interfering with one of the generators, which then amplified the spurious output, throwing the whole string out of calibration. There were three similar incidents, with results somewhat less surprising but equally felicitous, elsewhere in my department. In each case, crewmen who normally would be calling for assistance were rolling up their sleeves and solving the problem themselves. Of course, it’s taking them from three to ten times as long to do the job as it would take one of our seventeen, but they are getting it done, and they’re having to dig in and learn the systems better besides. Hits on the ship’s engineering, maintenance, and repair database so far today are nearly double the average for those watches.”
“Out. Stand. Ing. And here are two other things they’re learning,” said Max. “Number one: how to figure out how to solve problems on their own when they don’t know the answer off the top of their heads. It’s a process, you see. All of you know how to do it, but a lot of these men have yet to master it—how to dig for answers and put them together from bits and pieces and hints and guesses. That’s one of the most important parts of knowing how to be a crewman of a Navy fighting ship, who can improvise in a pinch, adapt to new conditions, and overcome obstacles.
“And number two: confidence. Without confidence, all the competence in the world is useless because you don’t think you are competent enough. You’re not up to the challenge until you believe you are up to the challenge. These men need that. And I think they’re about to find it.” He took his napkin out of his lap, folded it, and placed it on the table with a gesture of finality. “Well, gentlemen, unless you have anything more we need to discuss, that’s all I have.”
“Captain?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something, sir?”
“Such as…?”
“Such as those two Krag warships about one astronomical unit behind us.”
“What to do about our pink-eared friends is not our call. As of our receipt of Admiral Hornmeyer’s order, we’re not on detached service any more. We’re attached to Frigate/Destroyer Group TD-2008, Gerard Duflot, Commander. I don’t have discretion to engage targets of opportunity any more. Instead, regulations require that I communicate with Duflot and get instructions. So, as soon as we get past this supernova remnant that’s blocking the line of sight so I can get a direct comm si
gnal through to Commander Duflot, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
07:02Z HOURS 21 MARCH 2315
URGENT:
IMMEDIATE RESPONSE REQUESTED
TO:
DUFLOT, GERARD, CMDR USN, CO FRIGDESGRU TD-2008
FROM:
ROBICHAUX, MAXIME, LCDR USN, CO USS CUMBERLAND
RE:
PROBABLE ENEMY TARGETS
1. THIS SHIP HAS MADE COMPRESSION PROXIMITY DETECTIONS OF TWO VESSELS, IDENTIFIED AS PROBABLE KRAG WARSHIPS, UNKNOWN TYPE, BASED ON SPECIES-SPECIFIC TACTICS EMPLOYED BY CONTACTS.
2. CONTACTS ARE TRAILING THIS SHIP MATCHING COURSE AND SPEED AT A RANGE OF 1.116 AU.
3. ETA THIS SHIP AT RENDEZVOUS COORDINATES 19:34Z HOURS 25 MARCH 2315.
4. RECOMMEND THAT WE ENTRAP, ENGAGE, AND DESTROY ENEMY VESSELS USING KUIPER HYPER DIAPER RUSE.
5. REQUEST ORDERS RE THESE VESSELS.
11:49Z HOURS 21 MARCH 2315
URGENT:
FOR IMMEDIATE IMPLEMENTATION
TO:
ROBICHAUX, MAXIME, LCDR USN, CO USS CUMBERLAND
FROM:
DUFLOT, GERARD, CMDR USN, CO FRIGDESGRU TD-2008
RE:
PROBABLE ENEMY TARGETS
1. RECEIPT OF YOUR COMMUNICATION 07:02Z HOURS THIS DATE ACKNOWLEDGED.
2. THIS COMMAND DOES NOT CONCUR IN PURPORTED IDENTIFICATION OF TARGETS AS KRAG WARSHIPS. REGULATIONS SPECIFICALLY PRECLUDE SUCH AN IDENTIFICATON BASED ON A SINGLE PHENOMENOLOGY.
For Honor We Stand (Man of War Book 2) Page 26