by Chris Hechtl
“I'll mix it up if you'd prefer not to hit a girl, sir,” the Marine offered.
“Yeah, um … crap. Me and my big mouth,” the Neochimp muttered as the group chuckled again.
~~~^~~~
Jane didn't even consider what they were doing as strutting as she did her best to focus on the simulated combat. Unlike combat in the sims, the live exercise was very real and therefore very dangerous. Kittyhawk had an exemplary record with few crashes or incidents, and she didn't intend to threaten that record.
“Come on now, let's hook up,” she purred as she stuck to the enemy fighter's six. The pilot ahead of her tried to jink and make sharp random turns to avoid her missile lock. She flicked her finger on the weapon control to go to guns. She could make the commands seamlessly through her implants, but she was still an old-fashioned girl. She loved the tactical feel of the stick in her hands.
She fired off a simulated burst and then as he rolled out she switched to missiles and snap fired two in succession. “Fox one, fox two!” she said.
The Artoo units in the two fighters were linked on their own channel. They noted the snap fire. The Marine pilot snapped out of his roll and began kicking out simulated counter measures as he tried to desperately jink.
Jane saw one of her virtual missiles eat a flare, but the other went right up his tail and went off. The shields were the weakest there since they had to allow the exhaust to get out. The simulation was judged a kill. The pilot leveled out and then wagged his wings once to confirm the kill as she came up alongside.
“Scratch one, jarhead,” she said over the radio network.
“Damn. If I had to lose, at least it was to a lovely lady,” Mace replied.
“Crash and burn number two, Mace. Back to the barn,” she said as she checked the status of her squadron. “Anyone need help? My playmate is going home with his tail between his legs.”
As she watched several of the Marines went cold and dark. Apparently, they were going EMCOM too, a complete communication's blackout. “Artoo, keep a running plot,” she said as she passed over Mace and then came up alongside Havana. She snap rolled impulsively over the other woman's bird to get her attention.
Havana look up in time to see the craft roll over the bird upside down in a tight maneuver and then drop down neatly alongside the lead craft.
“Show off.”
“Just keeping in tune. The jarheads are getting cute. Three of their remaining birds went cold nose. We need to flush them out.”
“Wild weasel time, ma'am?” Havana asked. Along the centerline of her craft's fuselage, she had a keel mounted sensor and ECM pod. She flipped into the pod's controls and had it copy the lieutenant's emission profile.
“You read my mind,” Jane said with a smirk in her voice. She watched as a virtual version of her craft was painted over her own. After a moment, she cut her engines and went dark as well. Havana quickly outpaced her with her virtual consort along with her. Havana's Artoo unit would move the simulated fighter around to keep a natural look to the illusion.
“Now, where are you,” Jane said softly just as a single bird lit up, turning her radar and lidar on in a burst. “Ah. Olly olly oxen free,” she murmured as she tapped her RCS to go after the phantom on her plot.
~~~^~~~
Trajan watched the squadrons from Kittyhawk mix it up in the exercise. They were good, damn good. He knew Commander Bleakly, the CAG, was also watching, as were many of the other pilot officers.
There was some concern from flight about the older craft having metal and structural fatigue issues. That might be a problem. Field repairs like adding gussets caused weight issues and other problems.
Technically, given the amount of flight time some of those birds had on their clocks, they should be shipped home to be torn down and rebuilt or recycled. He knew that the plan had been to phase out the oldest craft in their inventory over time, staging them back to training complexes after a rebuild.
Briefly he reconsidered putting some of the pilots in new birds but then gave it up. They knew the old birds, and those birds had been broken in and were flight-worthy. He decided to leave it be. Besides, they needed every fighter and bomber.
He did regret what he was doing to Commander Wilder. It wasn't until he'd realized the intent of the orders for Kittyhawk that he realized what a fix he was putting the commander in. He made a note to give her preferential posting when it was possible.
He wished he had a posting for her, but he didn't. Nor was it right to demote her to a squadron commander under someone who was less experienced as a CAG than she was. Shuffling assignments was also out. No, he had made the call he hated, one that had no clear right or wrong answers.
~~~^~~~
A few hours before the carrier rendezvous the CEV Ch'Lx'sinak and her escorts arrived at the B-97c jump point. Captain Kiao Shenaka swore as he got the news that Kittyhawk's IFF was confirmed already in the star system.
“How the hell …,” a rating swore.
“I should have known they'd be here before us given that they caught up to us. I guess they were eager to join the fight,” the XO stated. “Or win your bet,” she said with a sidelong look to the skipper.
“Guess he won,” he muttered darkly. He shot a sour look at the other ships in company with his own. Coordinating the group had cost him the race. “Damn.” He was never going to hear the end of the ribbing.
~~~^~~~
Hurranna landed her Cobra fighter with pinpoint accuracy on the deck. It was easy with so much room around you. When you were used to landing on a CEV or even on a CEV’s ceiling, the interior of a larger carrier seemed wasteful.
“They aren't even using the ceiling,” she muttered as she checked out the ceiling.
“Look alive,” a deck ape warned as a ladder was attached to her bird. “Skipper said don't play tourist. We need to get this bird secured pronto.”
“Right,” she said as she unstrapped and then climbed out. Her gear would follow over later or so they had assured her. Still she'd packed an overnight bag and remembered to grab it before exiting the plane.
“You are the squadron commander?” a deck boss asked. “You are wearing Marine green?” he said wrinkling his nose.
“Never seen a Marine pilot before?” Hurranna asked as she tucked her helmet under one arm. “Warrant Officer Hurranna. Yes, I'm the squadron commander.”
“Um, well, we'll see about that. You need to report in to the CAG,” the deck boss said, pointing to the right.
“Sure,” Hurranna drawled. “This should be fun,” she muttered under her breath, already envisioning what she was in for.
~~~^~~~
Hurranna stood outside the CAG's office as she waited patiently. She didn't mind the wait; she knew the CAG was busy. But something told her something else was afoot. Her instincts were rarely wrong. She made herself as flat to the bulkhead she could as personnel passed. A few shot her curious looks. She ignored them, staring straight ahead. She was still in her flight gear; things were complicated in the pilot's locker rooms. None had been assigned to her for instance.
The door opened, and she straightened up. A head popped out. “Are you Warrant Hurranna?”
“Sir, yes, sir,” she replied. She noted as she swiveled an eye to scan the head that it was a chimera. Since she'd had some time to sit and wait, she'd looked up Argus's chain of command. The CAG was a Commander Bleakly, a bald chimera.
“Inside,” he said curtly, withdrawing his head.
She stepped inside and waited. “Close the door,” he ordered as he sat back down.
She turned and closed the door. He looked up at her. “Why didn't you let me know you were outside?”
“Sir? I knocked. You said to wait.”
He blinked and then frowned. After a moment, he shook his head. “When was this?” he asked.
“An hour ago, sir.”
“An hour. You've been standing outside for an hour?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wel
l, you take orders I'll give you jarheads that,” the commander replied as he rocked his chair back and laid an arm across his desk. A quick cursory look around told her the room was packed with paperwork and models much like Jerrica's had been.
“I've got a problem. The problem is you,” the commander stated flatly.
Hurranna didn't stiffen. She felt like sighing however.
“Specifically, you are a warrant, a squadron commander. I've got you and six of your pups to contend with. I've got three Marine fliers who were just sent to me. One of them is an ensign fresh from flight school.”
Hurranna didn't say anything.
He studied her for a long moment. “Nothing? Nothing at all?”
“I didn't know you were receptive to input or not, sir,” she said formally.
“Well, yes. What do we do with you? I can't have my chain of command fracked up. But, he's too green to put in charge. That's a problem, and I like neat orderly solutions in my wing. The admiral expects things to run smoothly.”
“Are you asking me to step aside, sir?”
“I'd love to do that, but as I said, he's too green. I saw his scores; they are nothing to write home about. How he got here I don't know,” he said with a shake of his head. “So, again, what do I do with you? He's already made excited comments about taking over the squadron.”
This time Hurranna did wince. She managed to keep her ears up though.
“I don't have just cause to take the squadron away from you. You are a combat veteran with years of experience in your head. And I don't want to hand it to someone who can't wield it as effectively as you've proven you can. So, we're in a pickle. Any ideas?”
“I don't know, sir. This hasn't been a problem on Kittyhawk,” Hurranna said cautiously.
“Tell me about it,” he drawled. “You lot have been insulated from things. Why the powers that be let you stay a warrant I'll never fathom. The same for your wing. Pilots should be officers.”
Hurranna just stood straight and looked at the bulkhead above the commander's head.
“Any comment?”
“Sir, I believe rank has nothing to do with ability in the cockpit.”
“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “Obviously we don't have a clue on how to handle this. I'll pass it upstairs but we both won't like the results. Bad things happen when you involve the brass.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ensign Four Eyes will give you your billet assignments and read you in. For the moment I'm keeping you on the temporary roster until we sort this out. I'd rather not lose you but if it comes down to it I might be forced to kick you to another ship. Perhaps even back to Kittyhawk. I don't like it, but I may not have a choice.”
“Yes, sir,” Hurranna said, swearing mentally.
“Go get settled in and make sure your pups are staying out of the way. Dismissed,” he ordered.
She came to attention with a heel click, saluted and then exited the compartment. Only when she was outside did she curse under her breath.
“My, such language. You'll fit right in,” an A.I. voice said from the overhead. She looked up at it and then down as an icon blinked on her HUD for attention. The A.I. wanted to talk. She opened the chat box and then watched as he dumped her billet information and other attachments into her implant buffer memory. “Nice to meet you, Warrant Hurranna. Personally, I hope you stay. Take the next right to your quarters …”
~~~^~~~
Once the two carriers were alongside, it took forty-seven hours to clean Kittyhawk out. The craft went within the first hour, but it took time to shuffle the crew around and then strip the ship. All of her spares went as well as her ordinance and even some of her equipment. Just about anything not welded or bolted down went over to the voracious appetites of the larger carriers.
As soon as Kittyhawk was unloaded, Commander Nax received orders to return to Protodon at his ship's best speed. They weren't even going to be assigned an escort; obviously, the fleet needed all of the warships with them.
It sucked. It sucked even more for Jerrica he knew, but that was the breaks. That was the career they were in. He didn't know why they hadn't kept Kittyhawk and instead selected a ship that had lost most of its wing, like one of the other CEVs. Two of them were missing, and he knew they'd been sent back to Protodon. “Ah, me,” he muttered. His XO looked over to him.
“Just our luck to be stuck with playing taxi cab,” the captain said as he began issuing orders for the ship to return to the jump point.
~~~^~~~
Commander Bleakly held on to Hurranna. But he hadn't found a fix to her situation, so he was forced to kick it upstairs. When he didn't get a response, he tracked Commodore Vargess down. “Sir, about the warrant …”
“Yes?”
“She's a Marine, sir. And well, a warrant not an officer. There are officers onboard. There is a Marine ensign in her wing. It's a problem.”
Trajan nodded slowly. He'd heard about the problem. Commander Bleakly liked everything neat and orderly—Marines with Marine units for instance. Apparently, the idea of putting the Marine in another unit hadn't occurred to him.
He was tempted to clue the CAG in, but if he hadn't seen it yet, then he was having vision problems. “She's a combat veteran. I've seen her jacket. I'm officially impressed.”
“Yes, sir. But the ensign …”
“Doesn't have her experience. None of the new pups do obviously. There was a reason he was in the waiting pool flying shuttles rather than assigned to a carrier wing. Some of the pups are just out of the training schools and flight academy. Whereas, she has been in the pilot's seat for how long? And a squadron commander?”
“Uh, yes, sir.”
“I'm glad we agree then.”
“But sir …,” the CAG said desperately.
“Yes?” Admiral Trajan asked in a tone that said his patience was being tried.
“Sir, there have been protests. This goes against tradition. It also confuses the chain of command. She's never held officer rank.”
“But she has for all intense and purposes acted as an officer. So, we'll leave her be. I'd give her a battlefield commission if I absolutely have to do so, but I'm not sure how that would look since she is in a different branch of the military. Though I suppose we can check with JAG as well as the Admiralty …”
“Ah, I suppose we can, sir.”
“It'll take a while. It could take months. Until then, figure it out, Commander,” the admiral said in a tone that told the CAG he was done listening.
“Aye aye, sir. We'll figure it out.”
“Good. That's settled then,” Admiral Trajan said firmly.
When the CAG walked away dazed, Yeoman V'z'k'll leaned over to the admiral. “You did that on purpose didn't you, sir?” he asked, clearly amused.
“It was fun,” the admiral replied with a brief smile.
“Still, sir, she is a jarhead, sir,” the Veraxin warned.
“She's fine. Just keep her away from anything breakable like the fine china and we'll work it out. She's been in a cockpit this long, right?”
The Veraxin signaled agreement. “Yes, sir. There is that.” He had also checked and had noted that the cat had kept up all of her paperwork and quals. Her people were appreciative of her as well.
“And I've had a chance to look up her record. She's a graduate of the legendary F platoon,” Trajan said with a small smirk. All four of the Veraxin's eyestalks blinked in surprise. “The Marines look up to them. I checked; half of them have gone on to take a commission. The rest are noncoms or about to become noncoms or even warrants like her and a few others I could name. She'll do fine.”
“Yes, sir. She's a cat though. I'm half expecting claw marks and unmentionables when she gets buried in paperwork. We've got a lot more here than on a CEV.”
“Tell her not to use it as kitty litter. If I can't, she can't,” the admiral said with a grin as he left. A rating nearby snorted and then chuckled as the yeoman turned away.
~~~^
~~~
Commander Bleakly shook his head. No help there obviously. So, he had to come up with his own solution.
Clearly demoting Hurranna or transferring her were out. That meant the ensign. Well, he knew of a couple of escort ships that were still short on fighters. He might as well send them the ensign and solve two problems with one stone. If that left the Marine squadron short, so be it. Everyone had to make due.
Chapter 16
Dead Drop
So far so good. Every day is a gift, Commander Berney Yashanaka thought as he looked at the status board. Another squadron of ships had arrived from Garth, this one a mix of destroyers and small ships. They were all former Gather ships and hadn't set any speed records. Most had traveled in the low octaves of Alpha band spending months in hyper. They all needed to be resupplied too.
“Every little bit helps,” he muttered, and then caught Lieutenant Commander Sedrick Lovato's sidelong look his way. He shrugged it off. Sedrick could think what he wanted; he was the staff spook after all.
He looked over to Lieutenant Jeremy Herod. He had to keep an eye on the young man; he was not only filling his own role on the staff as the staff navigator but also filling in at operations since his primary skills weren't needed as much while the fleet was at anchor.
One of his jobs was to train the personnel. Well, they were certainly getting an education he mused as he looked on to Lieutenant Myron Chekov, the staff TO. Myron was the most humbled of all the staff. He'd been battered, and his ego bruised and almost crushed in the setbacks the fleet had suffered. Cyrano hadn't ripped strips out of the man for being caught up in the works, but that just made it worse sometimes.
He felt a buzz and pulled up his tablet and checked it. The message was from Winfred Penning, the admiral's steward, alerting him that the admiral was on the prowl. He nodded once. If the admiral stuck to his usual routine he'd check in with the staff and then swing by Executioner's bridge to check in with Chase Couglin, the skipper, before he took a short walk and then returned to his office to do battle with more paperwork.