Ragnarok-ARC

by Patrick A. Vanner

Admiral Stevens cleared his throat and took a drink.

  "You do have a point, Captain." He could see that Zimmer was preparing to launch another verbal attack and forestalled it. "However, Captain Zimmer has made some very valid points as well."

  Captain Zimmer looked pleased with herself now that it sounded as if Admiral Stevens supported her position.

  "Both you and Commander Marks are correct as well," he continued, noting the fall of Zimmer's face. "All three of you are voicing what every other person in this room is or has discussed time and time again in the last few months. Indeed, the senior fleet commanders were, and still are, having the same argument. I am not going to discuss my opinion here, at this time. This is a night for addressing at least one of Captain Zimmer's points—rebuilding the fleet's morale. I am sure you can agree with the necessity of that, can't you, Captain Beckham?"

  "Yes, sir, I can." His tone made it clear that accepting one point did not mean accepting the others.

  "Good. Very good." He smiled at all of them over the rim of his glass as he finished off his drink. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must find myself another drink and mingle with some more of my guests. I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening."

  Admiral Stevens nodded at the group, and both he and his shadow, Lieutenant Rogers, turned and headed toward the bar. He smiled as he heard the debate picking up again. He had been honest with his officers when he said that the same debate was going on at the highest level of the fleet. He was always honest with those under his command. He could not tell them everything he knew, of course—there would always be an issue of "need to know"—but what he could pass on, he did. He did not like to keep secrets from his people as others in his position did. There was nothing to be gained from secrecy and far too much that could be lost.

  The admiral's thoughts stayed with the group he had just left as he moved toward the bar, shaking the hands of some of those he passed, nodding to others.

  He reached the bar and claimed the glass of whiskey waiting for him. Turning around, he leaned back against bar and surveyed his other officers in the wardroom. There were senior ship commanders and their executive officers in attendance, squadron and wing commanders in their white dress uniforms, and senior officers from the marines embarked with the fleet in their black. The atmosphere was starting to lighten within the room—he could feel it. Spirits were lifting; moods were changing for the better. His gaze drifted to the far corner, and he saw one of the few people whose accomplishments made him feel like a junior officer again.

  Alexandra McLaughlin, captain of the independent heavy cruiser Fenris, was not an imposing figure at one hundred and fifty-two centimeters, and he had almost missed her in the crowd of people. Slight of build, with a long braid of red hair and deep blue eyes, she appeared to be in her early twenties—unless one looked directly into those deep blue eyes and saw the pain and anguish residing there. The admiral chuckled to himself, thinking of her and her XO, Commander Higgins. Again, it was a study in opposites. Higgins, tall, heavily muscled, and looking every day of his forty-three years, was nothing short of painfully handsome, whereas she could only be described as cute. While many of the other officers in this room thought that the two of them were lovers, he knew for a fact that no relationship beyond the bonds of close friendship formed over many years existed between the two. The one piece of evidence that the others overlooked was that Commander Higgins was completely dedicated to his wife and family. The admiral tried to quash any rumors he heard, but they persisted. As Higgins didn't seem to be bothered by them, the admiral didn't concern himself with such scuttlebutt beyond what he came directly in contact with.

  Now that he had a clear line of sight on McLaughlin, he saw one of the most competent officers in the fleet, though she did not look it. She usually didn't like to be the center of attention, though he knew from Commander Higgins that she did enjoy functions such as this one. She and Higgins were having a spirited conversation and enjoying themselves; he could see two pairs of empty tumblers on the table next to them, and each was holding a fresh one. Seeing her standing there smoking, drinking, and laughing with Higgins, it was hard to picture them both as having seen the worst parts of this war and having been in the most dire of situations. Even though this was an occasion for full-dress uniform, she wore only ribbons, not medals. At this distance, while difficult to distinguish between awards, two items stood out on her uniform. The first was the black skull and wings of a Loki pilot, and the second was a single sky-blue ribbon with five small white stars on it that occupied the top row of her awards in solitary splendor. As Commander Higgins moved to the side to allow someone to pass, Admiral Stevens saw that he, too, wore only ribbons so as not to draw attention to his captain. She had an independent command, not tied to any particular squadron but free to maneuver and fight as she willed, within the scope of an overall battle plan. He thought about how she had earned the honor and privilege of an independent command many times over: Ross 128.

  * * *

  As commanding officer of the light cruiser Gna, Commander Alexandra McLaughlin had followed Admiral Wentworth into Ross 128. Unlike the admiral, she had managed to exit the system, but had paid a terrible price for that escape. Her after action report, however, did not do justice to the real story of her escape from that killing field known as the Ross system. Her tactical officer at the time, Lieutenant Commander Higgins, had been more detailed about what his captain had done to save her ship, her crew, and the surviving crews of two other ships. Greg's report, and those of the surviving officers of the other ships she had rallied, had earned her that sky-blue ribbon. Admiral Wentworth may have brought the Gna and her crew to the gates of hell, but it was Commander Alexandra McLaughlin, with most of her crew killed or wounded and her ship falling apart around her, who had brought the Gna home again, where so many others had not.

  The Gna herself had lived up to her name and had been the swift messenger that carried the first news of what had happened at Ross 128, and what the cost had been. She had taken everything that the Xan-Sskarns could throw at her, and kept most of her crew alive. There was not a man or woman of the surviving crew who had not wept when the Gna had been consigned to the breakers.

  * * *

  Admiral Stevens, realizing he was still staring at Captain McLaughlin's sky-blue ribbon, allowed his gaze to roam around the room. As he turned his head back to McLaughlin and Higgins, he noticed something was out of place. While he could hear subdued chuckles and see small smiles among the other officers, very few people in the room were openly smiling and laughing. Only McLaughlin and Higgins seemed to be treating this as a party and not some sort of senior officers' conference. He continued to survey the crowd, amazed that it was those two who were the liveliest of the guests. The others, discussing the military situation here and at home, or politics and ships' duties, while just as animated as McLaughlin and Higgins, did so in a hot and almost combative way. He wanted them all to be like the pair sequestered in the corner—leaving those topics behind, if even for a few hours, and simply relaxing and enjoying themselves.

  He had spoken with both of them on several occasions since they had been attached to his fleet and found himself with a slight case of hero worship, feeling like a midshipman on a training cruise when the conversation turned to Ross 128, as it inevitably did.

  A peal of laughter rang out from the corner, and the admiral smiled. He didn't know what was so funny and entertaining over there, but he was sure as hell going to find out. Signaling to the bartender, he ordered.

  "I would like a refill on this please," he indicated his nearly empty glass, "and a round for those two having the good time in the corner." The bartender nodded as the admiral stood back from the bar and headed over to the laughter in the corner, trusting the drinks to follow. As he neared the pair in the corner, he could hear Higgins chuckling at something McLaughlin said, but it was too low for him to make out over the buzz of conversation in the room.

  "Okay, you two," he
said, coming up behind Higgins and startling them both. "What's going on in this corner that's so damn funny? You don't see anyone else acting like this is some sort of party, do you?"

  "Sir!" came the dual response as both captain and executive officer tried to come to attention with drinks—and, in the case of McLaughlin, a cigarette—in their hands.

  "Damn, it was a joke, you two! At ease." The admiral sounded exasperated. "This is a party, and you both are supposed to be having a good time, which, from everything I've witnessed, you are. I just wish the rest of them were having as much fun."

  They both visibly relaxed and smiled as a steward arrived with the admiral's ordered drinks. Stevens took one and waved a hand at the others in invitation. Both of them took a glass, and all three were raised in a silent toast to each other.

  "So," Admiral Stevens began, "is either of you going to tell me what you've been talking about in this corner that has you both in such a good mood?"

  "Well," Alex began, then looked at her XO. Greg waved her off, smiling.

  "You're the captain."

  "Very well, Commander Higgins, I'll remember this." Smiling, she turned to the admiral. "We were just discussing the, umm, discrepancies in our memories."

  "Really? You?" The admiral sounded shocked. "Now, Greg here, I can understand. I mean, he is getting on up there in years, but I don't think you have anything to worry about."

  "See, I told you, didn't I? Even the admiral can see that you're getting on up there in age." Her smile was wide and infectious.

  All three of them started to laugh. More than a few heads turned at the sound of their laughter, and some of the faces wore frowns.

  "You would think this was a funeral or church they way some of them are looking at us," McLaughlin commented. "I did read the invitation correctly, didn't I? This is a Dining-In, right?"

  "Yes, it is, and unfortunately, Alex, you and Greg seem to be the only ones who realize that it is indeed supposed to be a party."

  She blushed at his use of her first name. This was the first time he had addressed her as anything but Captain McLaughlin. He called Greg by his first name frequently, but he had a history with him that went back further than hers did.

  "Now, tell me," he went on, ignoring her blush, "what brought on this conversation about age." He looked curious as he watched both of them over the rim of his glass, sipping at his drink.

  "Well, it's kind of embarrassing, sir," began Higgins, and he faltered as he looked at his captain.

  "Yes," she said and cleared her throat. "Well, we were discussing your aide, Lieutenant Rogers."

  "Oh?" asked the admiral, cocking an eyebrow.

  "We were just commenting that neither of us could remember being that young and eager. I told Greg here that of course he was that young, and I'm sure I was as well, but seeing as how he's more, ah, advanced in years than I am, he was having a more difficult time remembering that far back. That was how the topic of age came up." She finished and blushed more deeply than before.

  "I see. And besides his age—and I admit to you that I can't remember being that young, either—is there anything else that came up on the topic of my aide?" He didn't appear angry, but as if he genuinely wanted to know their opinions.

  "Nothing, sir," came the simultaneous reply from both of them. The admiral smiled at that.

  "Nothing?"

  "Well, there was one other thing," Higgins looked even more embarrassed to admit.

  "And that was?"

  "We both thought that we heard Lieutenant Rogers squeaking," McLaughlin answered, looking just as embarrassed as her XO.

  "He is new, isn't he?" The admiral smiled.

  "Just a bit, sir," she replied, smiling as well.

  Lieutenant Rogers appeared out of the crowd as if summoned by his name. He stopped at the admiral's shoulder and spoke in a quiet voice that McLaughlin and Higgins could still hear even over the background conversations.

  "Everything is ready, sir. We can start whenever you wish."

  "Very well, Lieutenant, thank you. You're the Vice President of the Mess tonight, so you'll be directing the rest of this evening's activities. You may sound the chimes at your discretion, Mr. Vice President."

  "Aye, aye, sir." He came to attention, turned, and disappeared back into the crowd.

  Chapter Five

  USS Asgard

  October 7, 2197

  1750 z

  Groombridge 34

  "So, Lieutenant Rogers is the Vice President of the Mess this evening, is he?" asked Commander Higgins.

  "Yes, he is, and why shouldn't he be? Tradition dictates that the Vice be the lowest-ranking member of the Mess. In this case, that honor falls to Mr. Rogers," said the admiral.

  "I believe that the regs state that the position can be delegated to a person of higher rank, should the occasion call for it." Captain McLaughlin entered into the conversation. "Nothing against the lieutenant. Both Greg and I know that to become and remain your aide, he has to have his shit wired right—unlike your last, what, two or three aides that suddenly found themselves with new orders almost before they finished processing in. But with this much heavy brass floating around, I would think that he might feel a bit overwhelmed by it is all."

  "You've got that right. He definitely is on the ball, and as you said, unlike the last four, actually, who seemed to think their job was to kiss my ass and shield me from all the bad news that they could intercept." Nodding and agreeing with McLaughlin's assessment of both his current and past aides, the admiral continued. "Rogers will do fine, and the experience will serve him well. Besides, it's not like things can be changed now anyway."

  "True," said Higgins, smiling.

  "Unfortunately, I'm the President of the Mess, and as stimulating as this conversation has been, it looks like the Vice President is going to be sounding the chimes soon, so I had best move on and greet the rest of my guests."

  "Yes, sir," McLaughlin answered.

  "Good evening, Admiral," Higgins intoned.

  With his final statement, and a slight inclination of his head to the both of them, Admiral Stevens turned to the next cluster of officers and moved off.

  * * *

  "That there is a great man, and one hell of an incredible commander." Higgins' tone was admiring, with none of the humor or sarcasm that had colored most of their conversations this evening.

  "Yes, he is. We're damn lucky to have him in command out here at the front," McLaughlin agreed. She extracted her cigarette case and was about to open it, then looked at her watch. She slid the case back into her jacket pocket, realizing that the Mess would be convening in a few moments, and tradition did not allow lighted smoking material in the Mess.

  "Amen to that." Higgins smiled and tossed back the rest of his drink. Tradition also dictated that drinks were not brought into the Mess, either.

  Alex smiled back, lifted her glass in salute to her XO's statement, and downed the rest of her drink as well.

  Three silvery chimes rang throughout the wardroom, and Lieutenant Rogers' voice could be heard over the freshly quieted room.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, the Mess is now called to order. If you would please take your seats."

  Drinks were finished and smoking material extinguished as the officers began to enter the dining room though the double doors the lieutenant had just opened.

  "Well, now, you behave yourself, Captain McLaughlin, and play nice with the other captains," Higgins said.

  "And you, Commander Higgins, I hope you remember how to use tableware. Eating with your fingers is just not acceptable among the company of other officers."

  Some of their fellow officers appeared shocked by the interplay going on between captain and executive officer. While some of the other captains and XOs shared a close rapport, a majority acted in a strictly professional manner toward each other, with only a hint of friendship. Most of them did not mind the tradition of seating COs and XOs apart from one another. While this had the benefit of allow
ing new relationships to form and new ideas to be explored, McLaughlin and Higgins were among the few officers who didn't approve of this tradition. Those who hadn't shared their experiences would never understand their bond, and Alex and Greg would prefer to work as a team to deflect those who wanted to pry into their already painful memories at these kinds of formal engagements. Unfortunately, the admiral's aides who laid out the seating arrangements were sometimes not privy to the machinations of the upper ranks, so they followed the manual and tradition.

  "Enjoy your dinner, Captain."

  "You do the same, Commander."

  With those final words, the two walked past the admiral and the other members of the head table, who were waiting to be announced so they could parade in after the guests had assumed their seats. They passed through the double doors and went in opposite directions, checking place cards as they walked between tables.

  McLaughlin continued moving between tables until she came to a table near the front of the room. Glancing down, she saw a place card with Capt. A. McLaughlin printed on it, and took her seat. She was feeling a bit warm from all the whiskey she'd had in the wardroom, so reached past the glass of wine at her place setting and grabbed the pitcher of water. Filling her glass, she took a deep drink and glanced around at the place cards to her sides. Her good spirits started to fade.