“Does Major McDowell need you on Rome Three again?” Vice Admiral Duncan asked as Dean dropped into the leather chair in the Wardroom after his first shower since leaving the ship.
“I don’t think so,” Dean said.
“What does that mean, Captain?” Duncan asked, the worry evident in his tone.
“It means Corporal Chancy is determined to make waves and the Major wants no part of it. I think he wanted some distance from me.”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“Neither do I,” Dean said.
He spent the next half hour explaining everything that had happened on the mission, including Chancy’s report to Major McDowell.
“I hope you saw to it that your TCU was downloaded into the Charlemagne’s memory banks.”
“First thing,” Dean said. “I may have to answer for my actions on Rome Three, sir, but the suit’s record will back up my story. Unfortunately, there’s just enough wiggle room in my actions to get me into some trouble.”
“From what you’ve said, you saved the entire mission, twice,” the VA said. “Perhaps you went too far blowing up the elevator, but I can’t say I would have done anything differently. Get some rest and then see to your reports. Everything has been dull up here.”
Lieutenant Owens was waiting outside the Wardroom. He smiled and shook Dean’s hand.
“Bloody good to see you again, Captain,” he said.
“Good job getting that shuttle on the ground, Lieutenant. That was a scary ride.”
“No doubt, but you kept your head. From the reports I hear, your platoon saved the day.”
“Or botched the mission, depending on whose version of events you listen to,” Dean said. “We’re all alive and the fighting should be over down there, at least for now. That’s something to be proud of at any rate.”
“I wish we could have been more helpful,” the Lieutenant said as they slowly moved toward Dean’s quarters.
“It was a disaster from top to bottom. You did your job, we did ours, we’ll let the Brass decide what was right and wrong.”
“Good to have you back on board, sir,” Owens said, snapping a stiff salute.
“Good to be back,” Dean said, returning the salute.
Owens went about his business and Dean slipped back into his quarters. They had only been his rooms for a week, and he had been off the ship for half that time, yet he felt like he was home again. He lumbered over to the bed, climbed in, and fell instantly to sleep.
Twelve hours later Dean was up again. He had showered, shaved, seen to his wounds and checked on his platoon. Everyone was in good spirits except for Chancy, who refused to come out of the room he shared with Tallgrass. Dean didn’t push the obstinate Corporal. Instead he ate his breakfast and took a cup of coffee, which he had carefully sweetened with powered creamer and real sugar, back to his quarters. He settled in at his desk and began dictating the report of his mission, and the actions of his platoon.
The only sticking point about the mission was Chancy’s actions. He had to make a choice about the insubordinate Corporal. He could be honest about Chancy’s actions, which would be counter to what the Demolitions Specialist would surely say about himself. On the other hand, if he was honest about Chancy’s insubordination, it would paint a poor picture of Dean’s ability to lead. As an OWFR officer, he was expected to inspire, influence, and mold the specialists under his command. The fact that Chancy was delusional did not alter Dean’s responsibilities. Instead of exonerating Dean as a platoon leader, they would in fact condemn him as a failure.
Dean spent the next three hours dictating reports, first on his decision to include live explosives for operational purposes only. He wished he could say that he never used any of the regular ordinance against the colonists directly, but eventually he made his report about the attack on the Papal Palace and how he made the decision to use one of the low yield warhead against the Pope’s Swiss Guard.
He was tired when he finished, and more uncertain than he had been since the mission on Rome Three began. In the heat of battle his decisions made perfect sense, but in hindsight he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps there might have been another way to accomplish his mission. The fact that his platoon was the only group capable of saving the operation from total failure wouldn’t safeguard his decisions from the O&A officers who would eventually debrief him.
After a light lunch and a walk around the ship’s rotating wheel, Dean returned to his quarters and read over his reports, making slight changes. Then he questioned every decision he made, trying to ask the types of questions he new the review board would ask. He was extremely hard on himself, trying to think of the best way to respond and ensuring that his report framed the mission in the best possible light.
When he was happy with the report he entered it into the ship’s official record to be transmitted back to the Sol system on the next communications beacon. With his official duties completed for the moment Dean checked on the members of his platoon. Ghost wasn’t in the medical facility, even though he had multiple gashes in his neck and shoulder. But wasn’t roaming the space station either, he was resting in the quarters he shared with Staff Sergeant Chavez.
Carter, the Heavy Armor Specialist who had been forced to leave his armor on Rome Three was assembling a new outfit from the spare parts on the Charlemagne. The other HA Specialists were either helping, or watching while they cleaned and made repairs to their own armor. Corporal Pimrey was attaching a new utility cannon to his armor.
Dean went to the Med bay and found Harper and Tallgrass sitting with Corporal Katherine Valosky, who was awake. She smiled weakly at Dean as he entered.
“Captain,” she said in a small voice.
“Good to see you improving,” Dean said, taking her hand. “That was a rough fight.”
“But we won,” she said.
“You bet your ass we did,” he said with a smile, and the other ladies laughed. “I know you’re in good hands but can I do anything for you.”
“No, sir, I am fine.”
“Get better,” Dean told her. “We need you, Cat.”
“I will sir, you have my word.”
Dean nodded and went into the next ward where Chavez was sitting up on the bed. He had his shirt off and there were bandages wrapped around his body, but he looked much better to Dean.
“You’re looking stronger,” Dean said.
“I’m off those wacky pain meds,” Chavez said. “They’ve got some potent shit on Rome Three. If more people knew about the narcotics down there that colony would have a lot more candidates trying to get dirtside.”
“Your wounds are better?”
“Improving every hour, sir. A few fractured ribs won’t slow me down, Captain.”
“What about the punctured lung?”
“The doctor said I needed a month to fully recover, but I can breathe well enough now.”
“It won’t hurt to take it easy for a while. There’s nothing more to be done from here.”
“We could be training?” Chavez said.
“And we will be, eventually. But not right now, everyone has earned a rest and I have no problem giving them one. It was a tough mission, but we got it done. Fighting our own is not what I signed up for.”
“Me either, but I go where they tell me to go and kill who they tell me to kill.”
“That’s why you’re a badass, Staff Sergeant.”
“I want out of this sick bay,” he complained.
“The medics are monitoring you and there’s nothing else for you to do. Everyone is taking care of their armor and weapons. Just take it easy and enjoy the best medical care this little ship can provide.”
The talk turned to more regular things. Specifics of the mission, memories from home, how attractive Doctor Rosen was. It was good for both men to let the stress of their jobs ebb as they talked as friends. Eventually the medics shooed Dean away and he was happy to eat dinner and turn in for the night.
&n
bsp; The next morning he was roused by his wrist link, which buzzed with a message for him. He rubbed his eyes as he sat up on his narrow bed and looked at the device on his arm. He was being summoned to the bridge by Vice Admiral Duncan.
Dean pulled his baggy, black, utility fatigues on and made his way to the Bridge. There were only two other officers manning stations besides VA Duncan who was seated at his command chair, surrounded by the transparent screens that occasionally lit up with data as the ship systems registered a change.
“Thank you for coming, Captain,” VA Duncan said. “Please, have a seat.”
Dean went to the same station he had occupied before the mission to Rome three. He sat in the stiff chair, looking down at the screens built into the flat console. They were mostly filled with ship information, such as trajectory, lists of the other ships in the system, their orbital speed. The lists went on and on, most of the information was of no importance to Dean.
“Is there a problem sir?” Dean asked.
“No problems, just news. The peace Summit has been scheduled and it looks like we’ll be pulling out of the system soon. We’ve got orders to proceed to the Aluet System. There’s a delegation that we’ll be picking up and transporting to Sol.”
“How long will the trip last?”
“Two weeks at FTL,” VA Duncan explained. “We’ll be in system a few days to resupply. Then we make the trip back to the Sol, in just over eight days.”
“Sounds uneventful,” Dean said.
“Can’t say that’s a bad thing from my point of view, Captain.”
“Nor mine,” Dean agreed. “My platoon can use the rest.”
“The Summit will be over and most of the other ships will have moved on. Including Major McDowell. There very well may be an inquisition once we get back.”
“Yes sir,” Dean said, his stomach turning sour. “Nothing I can do about that. I stand by my actions, and those of my platoon.”
“You can let your people know, then Captain. We’ve got space for passengers, but I’ll expect everyone to be on their best behavior in mixed company.”
“Of course, Captain. I’ll see that my Specialists are on a tight leash.”
“Very well,” Duncan said.
Dean stood, saluted, and then left the Bridge. He checked on everyone before breakfast, and then the routine of life aboard an EsDef ship began in earnest. Dean knew that he would need to keep his people busy. They needed strong expectations and plenty to do. It was the lack of something to look forward to that made life on a star ship so difficult. Too much leisure would not only make his platoon soft, it would make them miserable fast. Dean was determined not to let that happen.
Chapter 34
It was two more days before the Charlemagne was released from its support role in the New Rome system. It took another day of travel before the ship fired it’s FTL drives and sped to the Aleut system. The trip took two full weeks, and by the first day in hyperspace Dean was running drills, rotating his platoon through marksmanship practice, and long PT sessions that included resistance training, grappling, calisthenics, and cardio exercise.
They re-inventoried their weapons and ammunition. They checked and double checked battle armor. Dean filed reports outlining the drills, and the improvements of individuals within the platoon.
Chavez was on his feet by the time they left the New Rome system, and joined the platoon for modified VR training. He was present in the drills, but he used hand controls to move his avatar through the virtual reality settings instead of the multi-directional treadmills. The Staff Sergeant needed no help preparing a work out routine that included some physical therapy to insure he didn’t lose too much core strength while his ribs healed.
Cat was not as far along in her own recovery. She was still in the medical bay, and although she was sitting up, talking, and taking less medication for her pain, she was still on a liquid diet and would be for at least a month.
She wasn’t the only member of the platoon that was absent. Chancy was becoming more and more erratic. He was angry all the time, talking to himself, and refusing to train with the rest of the platoon. Dean didn’t push for the Demolitions Specialist to participate. He made sure that Corporal Chancy was eating, but otherwise he left the delusional man to his own devices. Tallgrass moved her belongings in with Sergeant Emily Harper on a temporary basis and Dean filed a medical report on Chancy. He hadn’t been injured on Rome Three, but he was desperately in need of psychiatric care, which no one on the Charlemagne was trained to give him. So he was left in his quarters and Dean guessed that he would be discharged once they returned to Sol.
There was also the possibility that he would be relieved of his command as well. Chancy’s father would no doubt be angry over his son’s condition, even though Dean had nothing to do with it. And there would be the issues regarding his creative planning for the mission on Rome Three. He hadn’t specifically broken any rules of engagement until they blew up the Pope’s elevator. That one incident, while absolutely necessary to ensure his platoon wasn’t overrun and the Pope liberated by his Swiss Guard, was still in direct contradiction to their orders not to use lethal force.
Dean did his best not to dwell on the matter and instead focused on the routine he had established for his platoon. He rotated through the marksmanship drills. Cleaned every nook and cranny of his battle armor, reviewed the footage of the battle in Vatican City, making notes on areas the platoon could improve, including himself. But despite all he was doing he grew bored quickly. Being in the same space for an extended period of time created its own form of tediousness. There was nothing to be done but to find ways to work through the stress, and look for new forms of entertainment.
Dean’s platoon joined with the other members of the crew for contests and competitions in the Recreation Education & Community room. They watched movies from the ship’s extensive catalogue, and Dean read books on military strategy. He also spent time with Lieutenant Owens and Crendel. They were becoming friends, which Dean was proud of, although the budding romance between the Operations officer and the ship’s first mate made Dean long for Esma.
When they finally came out of FTL in the Aleut system, Dean was present on the Bridge, along with all the ship’s officers. Faster Than Light travel could be dangerous in a variety of ways and VA Duncan liked to ensure that everyone was prepared if they ran into trouble coming out of light speed.
Dean was staring at his small bank of screens, which he had learned to manipulate. He had them set to monitor the exterior mounted cameras. He saw the stars reappear as the ship slowed. One monitor showed Aleut’s star, a distant blue orb. There were other ships in the system other than the Charlemagne. And Aleut’s primary planet, Aleut Seven, was a tiny white marble. There was a space station in orbit around the planet, and a belt of asteroids closer to the system’s star.
A flashing light on one of the monitors indicated official orders, and Dean knew that VA Duncan was busy reading through the information. Dean guessed that the orders were specifics about the delegation from the ice planet and how they were to be retrieved. Aleut Seven was a water world, with only two continents, one at each pole. Most of the surface water was frozen, but there was abundant fish and marine mammals, along with herds of shaggy herbivores that lived on ice algae that grew fast and covered most of the two continents. The colonists harvested food from the ocean as well as hunting, and trapping. They practiced a subsistence lifestyle, although they sometimes traded furs for items they couldn’t get for themselves.
“Well people,” VA Duncan announced. “We have a change of orders. Navigation, set a course for the Alrakis system.”
“Why the change of orders?” Dean asked.
“It seems the Alrakis Ship Yards have stopped responding,” the Commander said. “All communications beacons have disappeared. The E.S.D.F. Roosevelt was sent ahead of us, but apparently there’s still no word from the system. We’ll have to go take a look for ourselves.
Dean pulled up
the Alrakis Ship Yards on the ship’s information network at his station on the Bridge. It was a working space station with an independent foundry that processed raw materials from a nearby astroid belt. Alrakis was a binary system, which allowed the space station and foundry to harness the abundant solar energy. Rock chaser drones lassoed asteroids rich in mineral content which would be broken up and fed into the foundry. Two huge articulated arms extended from the foundry, and extruded liquid metals of varying alloys to essentially print out whatever space station component was needed. The workers on the station then completed construction, including electrical and various operational systems such as life support, communications, water treatment, and hydroponics.
Space stations were essentially groups of smaller components or pods, linked together in various ways, according to need. The Alrakis Ship Yards took orders, created the basic stations, connected them, ensured that all systems were operational, then used tug ships to haul the completed stations, additions, or replacement pods, through space to whatever system the station was needed in. The foundry alone was a volatile piece of machinery, and Dean knew that if it wasn’t carefully monitored and constantly maintained, it could destroy itself and the nearby space station where ninety-six souls lived and worked. However, that wouldn’t explain why the communications beacons, which were automated ships with FTL drives that required nothing from the systems they traveled to, hadn’t returned. The beacons were preprogramed, popping out of FTL into a star system, connecting to the planet or space station’s communications network, upload any messages, then launch itself back into FTL for its trip home. It was the Pony Express of space communication, yet Dean couldn’t imagine why the beacons weren’t returning. Even if a total catastrophe had occurred and the Alrakis space station had been destroyed somehow, so that there was no messages to upload or even a communications satellite to connect with, after a set period of time the beacons were programmed to return to the Sol system.
“Commander,” the Navigation officer said, “course set. ETA to the Alrakis system is twelve point seven hours.”
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