He really hoped they were all just routine notifications. The furore surrounding his return had been, if anything, even worse than the stresses of the campaign. The last thing he needed was more complication. Naturally, all five messages were marked high priority, but he had been around long enough to know that didn’t mean too much. Confederation Admiralties, like bureaucracies everywhere, had very curious ideas as to what constituted ‘high priority’.
On the other hand, even the routine could be bad news. They might be invitations to some grand award ceremonies. He hated things like that. Well, they weren’t going to go away, whatever they were. Steeling himself, he chose the earliest one and pressed ‘open’.
The message was written in the uniquely ornate font of the Courage High Admiralty and was short and to the point. “This is an official notification of your required presence at a court of enquiry into the loss of Admiralty Depot Ships Dragon and Griffin, to be held…” He read no further. Of course, he should have expected that. There were always enquires when a ship was lost, no matter what the circumstances. And Dragon and Griffin had most definitely been lost.
He hoped they weren’t going to make Captain MacMorris a scapegoat. He had been the senior officer on the spot, but the loss of the two vessels had hardly been his fault. Unfortunately, trivial considerations like innocence would not be an obstacle to an ambitious or talented lawyer. He knew from first-hand experience the result of an enquiry would be depressingly more dependent on the current political situation than factual evidence. It would be far more important how many connections and enemies MacMorris happened to have.
Courts of enquiry. If possible, he hated them even more than awards ceremonies. If nothing else, they lasted so much longer. Not only would he have to deck out in full uniform and go through a whole slew of ridiculous traditions, but there would be “searching” and “probing” questions to uncover “the truth” of what had happened. It would be a thorough waste of time. Such questioning tended to obscure more than it illumined. By concentrating too heavily on details the overall picture was lost. Even massive victories could be overshadowed by some minor mishap or mistake. It had happened before. It had happened to him before.
He opened the next message, coincidentally the second one from the Courage Admiralty. “This is an official notification of your required presence at a court of enquiry into the alleged mishandling of Admiralty Vessels Amethyst, Belofte, Ceres, Genie, Genuine, Sapphire...” Alleged mishandling? What were they talking about? He scanned further down the message, picking through the assorted legal verbiage and non-phrases. “…said elements of the fleet under your command did orbit a major planetary body at unsafe distances, contrary to Admiralty regulations, and did further orbit said body at reckless velocity, also contrary to…” He read no further.
If the only thing worse than an awards ceremony was a court of enquiry, then the only thing worse than a court of enquiry were TWO courts of enquiry. Two carefully conducted and orchestrated performances by people who had not been present, and probably had been off the active list for decades. And the major speaking parts would go to navy lawyers, whose pay and reputation depended on securing evidence of wrongdoing. He had no doubt they would find something to pin on him - nobody’s work was so perfect it could not be criticised in one way or another. The very best he could hope for was a minor official reprimand.
Wonderful. Absolutely slagging wonderful.
He had a sudden horrible thought. Skipping the two messages from Virtue High Command for the moment, he opened the one from the Fortitude High Admiralty. A quick scan of the opening lines was enough. Sometimes he hated being right. “You are directed and required to present yourself at a court of enquiry into the alleged mishandling of Admiralty vessel Dylla…” Apart from its origin, it was the same as the message from the Courage High Admiralty. Of course, there were slight and deliberate differences in the format and the wording. The Fortitude High Admiralty had a marked inferiority complex in its attitude to its larger and better heeled Courage counterpart. That led to it asserting its independence via ridiculous means, such as deliberately changing wording on bureaucratic messages.
Dylla had been of the few non-Courage Admiralty Depot Ships in the fleet, a minor escort vessel that hadn’t been heavily involved in the campaign. But she had swept around Jupiter with them, and so Fortitude Admiralty naturally wanted to hold their own enquiry.
And equally naturally the two Admiralty’s would never think of consulting each other before organising their respective legal circuses. So, the same evidence over the same situation would be gone over twice, and therefore would be in the public arena for twice as long. At least he could treat one as a kind of practice run for the other.
Or could he? He checked further down the Fortitude Admiralty message, and then reopened the second one from the Courage Admiralty and went to the bottom of that too. Unfortunately, he was right again. Equally naturally, the two had scheduled their legal explorations on overlapping time periods at widely separated locations, which meant it was certain that he would be in contempt of one of them. He could ask for the date of one to be changed, but the Admiralty’s of the Virtue Confederation jealously guarding their prerogatives. They deeply resented outside interference with their procedures. A suggestion from a mere field officer, no matter how logical, would likely get very short shrift.
All of which made the two messages from the Virtue High Command pretty much redundant. Resignedly Courage opened the first one. Yes, no surprise again. It was another cunningly worded invitation to be pulled to pieces by silken-tongued lawyers and ancient admirals. An official ‘investigation’ into the recent operations around Jupiter was to take place a week after the courts of enquiry had completed. That was a nice touch. The conclusions of the courts (and more importantly the apportioned blame) would be all nice and fresh in people's minds.
Yet there was a second message from Virtue High Command. What could that possibly be? He was just about to open it when his perscomp alerted him to yet another message, a live connection this time. Intrigued, he pricked his ears up. No sign of Rose emerging. It was worth the chance of clicking ‘accept’ for an audial-visual connection. Instantly Cromarty’s anxious face appeared on the inbuilt vidscreen. Of course. She would have received the same notifications to attend the courts of enquiry, and as a good aide her first thought would be to contact him. She began to talk immediately.
“Admiral, have you checked your messages recently?”
“I’m just going through them,” he replied, tapping at his perscomp. “Interesting, not so?”
“They have you – us – down for three courts of enquiry, two of them on the same date!”
Courage brought up the last message as he talked. “I know. Can you notify the relevant authorities and try and get that changed?”
Cromarty puffed out her cheeks. “I can try sir. But you know how…”
“Yes, I know how it works. Do your best Sally.”
“What gets me is this ‘mishandling of vessels’ nonsense sir. You saved the whole fleet with that manoeuvre admiral, not to mention the entire Virtue Confederation position in the Jovian system. And they are quibbling about regulations and “risking ships.” For slags sake! Ships are risked every time they go into battle! I mean what do they want from us admiral? Blood? The souls of our firstborn?”
“I'm afraid it gets worse Sally. I’ve just opened a second message from Virtue High Command. Apparently, I’m being sued for manslaughter.”
“What?”
“Multiple manslaughter, in fact.”
“Manslaughter? How?”
“It’s a private action brought by a group calling themselves ‘the families and friends of the Ganymede massacred’. They allege that all the people killed on Ganymede died as a direct result of my actions, or lack of them, and therefore I am culpable.”
Cromarty was open-mouthed. “Are they crazy? People died on Ganymede because the Trigs bombed the place!”
“Oh, they don’t deny that. As far as I can make out by skimming through it, the complaint states that as commanding officer I had a duty of care to the people under my command and a duty of responsibility to protect the civilians. Therefore, their deaths at the hands of the Trigs was entirely due to either my personal design, or my negligence, or my incompetence.”
“That’s outrageous! How do they think they are they going to make that stick?”
Courage checked his perscomp. “According to the covering note, Virtue High Command doesn’t think they can. They think it’s all just a legal ploy to get compensation from the navy as well as the insurance companies.”
Cromarty sucked air in through her teeth. “Incredible. Very clever though. A public civil trial could be very embarrassing for the Admiralty, what with all the screaming about the casualties on Ganymede. It might be damaging politically to the pro-navy parties, even if the claims of this – group – failed, which they probably would.”
“So, they are banking on the Admiralty settling out of court to avoid the publicity?”
“I would think so.” Cromarty scowled. “How they must love their dead relatives, to go to all this trouble.”
“Well, they are kind of right about me having a duty of care to those under my command…”
The tiny image of Cromarty leaned forward on the vidscreen. “That doesn’t extend to wrapping them all in cotton wool sir! We're in the navy! We fight for a living, and sometimes there are going to be casualties. When those sailors signed up they knew the risks.”
“Did they Sally? How many of them really understood that? People don’t tend to get killed in space battles. The Ganymede Ultima incident has been the second biggest loss of life the Confederation has suffered in the war so far. In fact, it’s the third largest it has ever suffered.”
“I know. Every news broadcast makes a point of mentioning the fact.” She pursed her lips. “The fallout is precisely what this group is counting on.”
“No doubt.”
Cromarty shifted tack. “You know the Triangle League navy has issued a formal apology for the civilian deaths?”
“Yes. I think that was a mistake on their part. There’s been a lot of condemnation of the Ganymede attack from the neutral Belt powers. An apology virtually admits responsibility.”
Cromarty grimaced. “That all might get undone if there’s a trial here. It refocuses the matter onto us.” She paused. “Admiral, we have to fight this. The Confederation has to fight it. Apart from the morale effect, if the principle that commanders are fully culpable for all casualties and damage suffered ever becomes accepted in law…”
“Yes. Well. Perhaps it won’t come to that. Like you say, it’s hardly in the best interests of the Confederation to have such a principle stand.”
Cromarty’s image quivered. “Admiral, I have to go. I’ll get in touch with the navy advocate’s office next shift – gee them up a bit - try and get the enquiry dates shifted. At least point out the implications of all this.”
“Thanks Sally. Oh, hold on a minute.”
“Sir?”
“Umm…are you still my aide now that the campaign is over?”
“Yes, because the campaign isn’t officially over until all enquiries are completed.”
“Really?”
“Yes sir. New ruling after the Albedon campaign.”
“Then where is Commander Prince?”
Cromarty gave a tight smile. “Commander Prince has been reassigned sir. Apparently, the rules don’t count if someone important decides you’re urgently needed somewhere else. I believe he will be giving a sworn deposition via a vid interview.”
“That’s hardly optimal.”
“No sir. We can ask for him to appear personally, but I doubt that’ll happen.”
"I wouldn't think so." Courage cleared his throat. “Sally, I don’t think it’s fair for you to get caught up in all this, not when you were only obeying my orders. If, by any chance you can get yourself a reassignment, I want you to take it.”
Cromarty gave him a hard stare. “I was assigned as your aide sir. I stand by my own decisions. And yours too as it happens.”
“I appreciate your loyalty Sally. I really do, but this could all get very messy.”
"The question doesn't arise anyway sir. I just don’t have the contacts to get a sudden reassignment, and anyway my age is against me.”
“You’re not likely to acquire any contacts working with me.”
On the perscomp Sally cocked her head to one side. “As much as I would like to get ahead, I’d prefer to be able to sleep without a guilty conscience.”
He didn’t know what to say.
“We’ll beat this situation sir. After all, we beat the Trigs. And against all odds.”
“Thank you Sally.”
“Sir.” The perscomp image blanked.
He could make out Rose still weeping gently in the next room. The problem with Sally's optimism was that beating his own side always turned out to be more difficult than beating the official enemy.
Chapter 39.
Second Base Naval Hospital, Courage Asteroid, eleven months later.
Josie arched her back and yelped as another uncontrollable spasm coursed through her lower body. Her mouth was dry, yet sweat poured from her temples and armpits.
“It’s ok, sweets,” soothed Donal, stroking her hair gently. “Nearly there.”
She smiled at him. In mocking response, another powerful spasm shot through her. She cried out despite herself. The agony seemed to recede when she squealed. The power of the air wailing through her lungs controlled the pain somehow. Donal’s increased caressing helped too.
Josie, breathed in and out hard three times, and then forced a grin. “You look more worried than I am!” she managed.
He mopped away the beads of sweat on her brow. “That’s because I AM more worried than you are.”
“How do you figure that? I’m the one doing all the screeching here!”
“Yes but at least you CAN screech. I just have to sit here and be helpless.”
“Oh, poor you…”
Josie felt another pulse of pressure and pain building. She had time for two quick deep breaths before it pounded through her. She hadn’t been here long at all, but it seemed like hours. “Oh, it burns!”
“That’s alright,” said a blue-clothed professional.
“What do you mean it’s alright?” Josie gasped. “You’re not feeling any of it!”
The nurse gave a rigor mortis smile. “Mothers to be are often rather irrational,” she observed tartly.
“Or blessed with heightened clarity and insight,” muttered Donal. That got a multiplicity of glares from the assembled members of the healing fraternity, but it set Josie off. She began to laugh. It seemed the funniest thing she had ever heard. She laughed and laughed until her whole body was shaking. That eased the pain more than the drugs or any of the simpering advice.
“Calm down Jose. It wasn’t THAT funny.”
“Ha, ha, hah…argh…ARGH!”
Another wave of uncontrolled movement, sweeping through her like it would never stop. Then inexplicably there was a release, an easing, a partial abatement to the strain and the pressure.
“That’s good, that’s good,” said the most empathic of the nurses. “I can see the head.”
Subconsciously Josie reached down in response. Donal caught at her hand.
“No, let her,” said the nurse.
She felt her hand being released. Her fingers quested further and touched something damp and fuzzy.
“That’s your baby,” said the empathic nurse. “You just need to make one more good push. That’s all.”
One more good push sounded far, far too much, but now her body was operating pretty much independently of her conscious control. The push came, suddenly and surprisingly, and with it a spike of pain.
“Aaaghh…aaghh…ohhhh.” Then total release, relief and a sudden wonderful wailing. The empathic nurs
e led what could charitably be called cheers, but which sounded more like clipped professional statements only with greater volume.
“There we go!”
Josie gulped and shuddered as she slowly began to regain control of her body. The occasional jerking spasm was an intense reminder of how unsettling losing control had been.
Donal came into her eye line, with a smile so broad it almost split his face in two. He gave her a hug. “Oh wow, Jose! Well done! Good job.”
Josie struggled to rise up “What? Where…”
Well meaning hands pushed her down.“It’s alright. Everything is fine. You have a beautiful baby girl,” said the empathic nurse. She was gazing adoringly at a bundle. But surely that bundle should have been Josie’s?
“Where is she?” Josie struggled vainly to raise herself up again. “I want my baby.”
“Just a moment,” said another blue clothed professional, “Nearly finished.”
They held up a tiny reddened misshapen lump, hairless and still partly smeared in a white powdery slime, and it was the most beautiful sight in the cosmos. The lump gave an astonishingly loud wail, and that was the most beautiful sound in the universe. She held out her arms, unconscious of the needles and straps and the sweat. The bundle was wiped, swaddled and handed into her eager arms, and it was the most beautiful weight to hold in all of reality.
She ignored the various people doing medical things for the next few minutes. She barely registered the bed being wheeled out into a small private room. She only noticed when, after way too much talking, the Courages, all three of them, were left alone.
The baby had quietened, just giving the odd gurgle now through a sieve of saliva. Her eyes were shut but the redness of her skin was already fading. Josie gazed at her, imprinting every detail. Unconsciously her right hand roved over the tiny body, feeling every detail, fingers, legs, toes. Her little daughter was perfect. Donal was beaming at them both.
“You did really well Jose,” he said, tenderly.
The Jovian Sweep (Asteroid Scrabble Book 1) Page 42