The Log of the Gray Wolf (Star Wolf Squadron Book 1)

by Shane VanAulen

  Before even reaching the galley, he could smell the aroma of cooking food as he passed through the doorway. Inside, he was happy to find that most of the crew had already gathered. Some were busy working to finish putting out place settings or were bringing pitchers of drinking water to the tables. Others were milling about in conversation, telling their friends about their part in the escape or introducing veterans to middies.

  In this last role, Misters Dover, Daley, and Cappilo seemed to be very active. The three were working hard at putting people together that had similar interests or backgrounds. They had the advantage of knowing both the retirees and the middies on a personal level. In fact, they had taken much of that into consideration when they had broken down the duty rosters and section assignments over their last month of preparation.

  Mike nodded to Alister Dover as he entered, and headed to the galley’s kitchen. There, he proceeded to get out every extra glass he could muster for the Scotch. He figured in a most unscientific way that if he could get twelve shot-glasses of Scotch out of each of the 750ml bottles, he would have more than enough Scotch from the case’s twelve bottles to serve the 110 men and one-woman crew. As he poured the strong-smelling alcohol, he instructed the servers to set them out after everyone was seated and to instruct the crew to save it for the toast.

  Returning to the galley, he saw that Admiral Kirkland, shuttle pilot Usheiba, and the two human Austro security officers had also been invited and were already seated. Nearby were several armed guards who had been instructed to escort the latter three from the ship’s brig. Once they arrived at the mess hall, Commander Richards explained to them that they had been invited to dinner and that if they didn’t behave, they would spend the rest of their time on the Wolf in the brig or scrubbing fusion intake manifolds. Admiral Kirkland had then ordered them to cooperate and not to cause any trouble.

  CPO Pauly slowly rang a small ship’s bell three times, indicating that they should be seated. The room became quiet as Captain Hope entered the room and Commander Richards called the room to attention. Everyone jumped to their feet and assumed the position of attention until the old officer reached his seat and told the crew to be seated. When everyone was seated, Captain Hope asked the Padre to give the benediction.

  “Dear Lord, thank you for this food we are about to receive. Thank you for delivering us from harm and forgive us for the trespass we have endured on others to make this possible. We, the crew of the Star Wolf, beseech you for your everlasting patience and guidance in the hardships we are about to face in the months to come. We ask you to bring this ship and her crew to safety and ultimate victory. Amen!”

  “Amen!” the crew repeated in one voice and raised their heads up.

  The captain made one more comment and said, “Let’s eat,” which was met with applauds and hoots of approval.

  The meal started with hot rolls and butter with a salty chicken broth soup. The main course was green string beans in butter and slices of tender beef in a mushroom sauce with fried onions on the side. Dessert was French apple pie with vanilla ice cream in chocolate sauce on the side. Everyone was amazed by the quality of meal and thought that it was the best they had ever tasted or ever would taste.

  It was a good meal, much of which Chief Pauly had already prepared as a sort of celebratory feast, but the men were also eating the supper of the survivor -- the meal of the victor. It was an old saying, but they could all attest to it that food never tasted better, the air as clean, and wine as sweet as to those who face death in battle and survive. Mike thought that if they ate like that every day, much of this crew would need to go on a diet, and again made a mental note to start a PT fitness schedule.

  As the pie and ice cream was being served, several men led by Gunny Masters started to tap their spoons on the sides of their glasses, calling for a toast. At the command table, the old Hawk rose and took up his glass of Scotch.

  “Gentlemen and lady,” he started, tipping his head to Doc Beilor, who nodded in return. “We have made the impossible, possible. We, a crew of midshipmen and retirees, have reclaimed this ship, this Star Wolf, and have freed her from her kennel.” This was met with so much applauds and cheers that the Hawk had to raise his hand for silence.

  “We are behind enemy lines, and it is a long, hard road to return to Confederation space.” This statement made the happy crew sober up a little. Some looked down at the table lost in grim thoughts, or up at the ancient warrior with the hope of a savior in their eyes.

  “The enemy will be looking for us at every turn, but we will outsmart that enemy. We will do exactly what the enemy would not expect us to do; we will do exactly what this ship was designed and meant to do. We will attack deep into their space, we will strike at their supply ships, and we will win!”

  Again, cheers erupted and the feeling of victory and optimism was instilled in each man. Hope’s face was still, and though everyone was smiling, Mike noticed that his eyes were like a predator’s, scanning the room until they met the only other set of eyes that were observant despite the overwhelming spirit of joy.

  The captain nodded to him and then smiled, as the room grew quiet once more.

  “We have a great task ahead of us. We may only have a few hands, but we have youth and we have experience, and we have God on our side,” he said, looking to the middies, the vets, and then to the Padre.

  “We also have a fine twelve-year-old Scotch in front of us, complements of our onetime pirate foes and Mister Collins. So please raise your glasses,” he instructed, waiting for everyone to raise their glasses.

  “God save our Emperor, our Confederation, our ships and crew, and above all, God save humanity!”

  “God save humanity!” they repeated and drank the shot of Scotch in one swallow. Many of the vets smiled in pleasure as the single malt burned their throats and warmed their blood. Other vets who knew better had already given their portion of the strong drink to their comrades, who cherished such heavy spirits or had taken only a sip to savor their drink in small amounts.

  The midshipmen who didn’t know any better and who were caught up in the moment drank it down in one big gulp. Coughing and backslapping broke out amongst them, and one red-faced young freshman had to rush from the room followed by Doc Beilor.

  Mike had noticed that Commander Richards had given his portion of Scotch to Commander Hutton and had toasted with his water glass.

  Once the room returned to order, dessert was served and the captain quietly tried to slip out of the room, but the room was quickly called to attention as he stood. Calling them to carry on, he hastily left for his quarters.

  After coffee was served, Commander Richards stood and ordered all section chiefs and officers to report to the captain’s day room in approximately a half hour. As the men were leaving to go get some sleep or relieve the current duty shift, Commander Hutton found Collins and his three friends talking about the meal and the strength of Scotch.

  “I’m telling you, I could clean the hydrogen manifolds with this stuff,” Rufo was arguing, having swallowed the smooth but powerful single malt down the wrong pipe and had then broken out into a coughing fit, much to the delight of his friends.

  “It’s an acquired taste, Mister Cappilo,” Hutton remarked, stepping into their small circle.

  Rufo looked as if he wanted to say something smart but just smiled in response.

  Hutton smiled back, noting the look in his eyes. “Go ahead, say it.”

  “I was going to say that one could acquire a taste for shit if one really tried.”

  His friends all held their breaths for a second until Hutton chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t want to try that, but you can tell me how it turns out.” He then shook his head, still grinning, and turned to leave. Taking a step, he stopped and looked back, almost as if he just remembered why he had stopped to talk to them. “The captain wants all of you to attend the meeting, so you better get a move on.”

  “Aye, sir,” they replied as one.

&nbs
p; Entering the captain’s day room, the four friends could see that the others had already gathered in the small office. Every section chief was present along with Doc Beilor, Commanders Richards and Hutton, Gunny Masters, and Chief Warrant Officer Zimmerman a.k.a. the Padre.

  What surprised Mike the most wasn’t who was present, but the room itself. Just a few hours ago, the cabin had been cluttered with tools and construction supplies. Now the room was virtually spotless. Somehow, almost miraculously, the cabin had been cleared of all building materials, cleaned, and even decorated with a set of twelve leather-bound books on naval history, a marble bust of Admiral Horatio Nelson, Hero of the Battle of Trafalgar, and a painting of an old WWII aircraft carrier USS Enterprise. Even extra chairs had been brought into the small room, making it seem rather crowded and forcing almost everyone present to be seated.

  Mike quickly found the source of this miracle as Mr. Lucas greeted them near the door and showed him and his three friends to seats that he had reserved for them. Once seated, the steward disappeared for moment and then returned with a rum and coke for Mike, a whiskey neat for Alister, a red wine for Rufo, and a German beer for Martin. How the old man knew their drink preference, he would never know, but was dying to ask.

  Captain Hope was seated behind his cluttered desk chatting to Richards, Hutton, and Beilor, who were seated around the desk. The small group of senior officers shared a moment of unheard humor and broke into laughter. It was good to see them smile and laugh, and even though he hadn’t heard the funny story, Mike smiled just to be among them.

  “Well, let’s get started,” Hope said, scanning the assembled chiefs, middies, and officers. “First of all, I want to thank each of you for your selfless dedication to duty and hard work. You have each preformed in the highest tradition of the Confederation, and all of humanity owes you thanks.”

  The smiles and nods in return told the old warrior all he needed to know, and he continued without pausing. “For the next several weeks we will be in a station keeping orbit while we finish repairs on the Wolf. I want to be fully operational within six weeks. We will be safe here and this ‘Hole in the Wall’ will be our fallback base to repair, rest, and regroup. To do that we need to get the old pirate base operational.”

  “Mister Cappilo, you’ll lead a team over there to get the oxygen purifiers and environmental systems up and running. Also, we want the machine shop operational so we can make repair parts in conjunction with the Wolf’s shop. I want their old missiles refitted for our use at the base just in case of any accidents.”

  “Yes, sir, not a problem,” Cappilo said with his traditional shit-eating grin.

  Hope turned from the young man to the only woman in the crew. “Edie, I want you to get settled in and go over to the base and see what we can use from their infirmary. Also, get the base hospital shipshape, but the Wolf’s sick bay comes first.”

  “I want to give everyone in the crew a physical as soon as I can, and I’ll need at least two crewmen to act as corpsmen,” she replied, really thinking that she needed at least six corpsmen and four nurses.

  Commander Richards answered before the captain could. “I’ll check and see who has medical training beyond first aid and assign as many people as you need. I also think we should all have a refresher course on first aid.”

  “Agreed,” Hope broke in. “In fact, I want classes for both ship operations and cross training as well as academic classes for all midshipmen. We will continue their training, so that no one will miss their graduation date. Commander Hutton, you’ll be in charge of the training schedule and coordination with the first officer. Use the veterans as much as possible; many of them have advanced degrees besides their military experience.”

  “Aye, sir,” Hutton answered, looking to Richards, who smiled and nodded his head in return.

  Hope moved on and looked to Chief Warrant Zimmerman. “Padre, how long until both engines will be in reliable condition?”

  The Padre paused, his eye narrowing as he considered for a moment before he would give him a definite answer to hold him to. “I’d say it would take a week to shakeout the bugs and a week in case we need to make adjustments and repairs. So at least two weeks.”

  The elderly captain took a deep breath and sighed before asking his next question. “What about the spinal cannon?”

  Again, the chief warrant officer waited a moment before answering. “To tell you the truth, sir, I don’t know. It seems to be in working condition, but without the engines, it has been hard to run a diagnostic. Once we have both engines, we should be able to run a complete systems check and then I’ll be able to let you know.”

  Hope was disappointed, but nodded in agreement. Padre and his engineers had their hands full just getting the engines operational. Still, the spinal particle cannon was a tremendous weapon, one that they would need as soon as possible. Turning his attention to other matters, he looked to his young officer.

  “Mister Collins, you and Gunny Masters will be in charge of the armory as well as supervising hull and turret instillation.”

  “Yes, sir, we have the plating and turrets we stripped before we left stored in holds four and five. I also took the forty repair robots from the station. They should make the work go in no time,” Mike said as the captain smiled. The repair robots would be able to do the work of four men as well as be able to work around the clock with minimal maintenance.

  Mr. Lucas came around the desk and handed the captain a small wooden case. He then leaned down and whispered something to Hope, who gave him a slight nod in response.

  “Gentlemen, as Captain of the Star Wolf, I’m exercising my right to issue field promotions,” he said, reaching into the box. “Ensign Collins, you already are this ship’s third officer after Commanders Richards and Hutton. To better facilitate your duties, I’m giving you a field promotion to the rank of senior Lieutenant. Congratulations, Lt. Collins.”

  The room applauded and several people slapped him on the back. In a blink of an eye, he had skipped Lieutenant Junior Grade and moved on to a rank he shouldn’t have seen for at least four or five years. He mumbled out a “thanks” as the Gunny leaned closer to him.

  Seeing the young man’s confusion, Masters had moved closer and leaned towards him. “Sir, you deserve it, so suck it up and smile.”

  Hope handed him new rank insignia. “They were my old ones, maybe they’ll bring you some luck,” he said, shaking his hand.

  The Hawk then turned his piercing stare to the three senior midshipmen. “Under our current MTOE, I can fill three Lieutenant Junior Grade positions, and I can’t think of three more deserving young men.”

  Again, the promotions were a surprise, and Daley, Dover, and Cappilo were as shocked as Mike had been.

  “Don’t worry, Mister Cappilo, they’ll take your rank away when the war is over,” the Padre joked, slapping his young trainee on the back.

  That same thought passed through Mike’s mind. “What about junior officers?”

  Again, Richards answered before the captain could. “Of the other seniors, pick five that are next in line by rank, and they will be considered for promotion. All other midshipmen will continue under the cadet ranking system. They are still young gentlemen, and we’ll treat this assignment just like a summer service tour. They will serve as trainees at the rank of E-5, but since all the veterans are senior chiefs or sergeants, it shouldn’t be a problem as they won’t outrank them.”

  The captain took a sip of his Bushmill’s Black Bush Irish whiskey and leaned back in his chair. “All officers will be trained for bridge duty. Commander Hutton and Lt. Collins, you will both serve duty shifts as command officer.”

  “Sir, I don’t really have the experience as a command or even as a bridge officer,” Hutton stated, not wanting to screw up and risk the ship due to his inexperience.

  He was a commando, a soldier, and a small unit leader. He fired personal weapons, blew things up, and when given the opportunity, flew fighters. His days as a sh
ip’s officer -- let alone as a command bridge officer sitting in the captain’s chair -- were practically nonexistent.

  Hope held up a hand to cut off any other protests.

  “Commander Richards will be working with you both, just as you will be training the crew in small arms, unarmed combat, and tactics. Let’s keep open minds; we all have new things to learn, and in the event of casualties, we will need to be able to cover multiple stations and duty positions.”

  “Aye, sir,” came the chorus of responses.

  The Hawk smiled back at them. “Very good. Tomorrow is a training holiday -- normal shifts, but let’s keep it easy. Every Sunday will also be light duty shifts until we leave. Make sure your sections get settled in and everyone knows their battle stations.”

  With a glance from the captain, Commander Richards dismissed them with an “everyone have a good night.”

  The men quickly finishing their drinks followed a second round of positive responses. They then stood up and started to leave. All of them were feeling the drinks coupled with already being more than ready for some sleep, especially after such a good meal. Unfortunately, some of them still had a duty shift before they could put their heads to their pillows.

  “Lt. Collins, could you please stay for a moment?” the Captain asked as Mike’s friends gave him a reluctant shrug and left. Commanders Richards and Hutton also stayed behind as well as Gunny Masters, Doc Beilor, and the Padre.

  Hope waved to Mr. Lucas who quickly secured the door and then moved around the room recharging their glasses. Though Mike would have loved to have another, he politely waved off the steward when he offered to refill his glass.

  “Any questions?” the Hawk asked, looking his command staff over. The room was quiet, and the old man smiled again. This time, his eyes squinted in a kind of pleasure. “Good, chain of command is Richards, Hutton, and Collins. In the event of all our deaths or incapacitations, Mister Dover followed by Daley and Cappilo would then assume command. Padre you would, of course, be invaluable on the bridge, but you are needed with the engines.”