“We’ll have Lieutenant Orlova back soon.”
“She, perhaps, is a little hands-off, but that can be tolerated with good watch officers on duty, and at present I believe we have no problems on that score. Yourself included, if that is of interest. You lack experience, but you will gain it quickly on this ship.” He smiled, and said, “One more reason to resist promotion. Such advancement would likely mean a transfer to something less interesting, as poor Kelso found out to his displeasure.”
“This fighter assignment isn’t permanent,” Salazar replied.
“Of course not. Being a sensible evolutionary step, doubtless they will be filed away in some storage facility for years. Until we fight another major war, and if we are fortunate, one of those who tested them will be in a position to bring them into service. Such is often the case, in my experience. What would the Counter-Admiral commanding Fighter Command do if he only had a collection of drones under him? They might not even let him keep his wings.”
“They’ll always be a need to have humans in control.”
“But the romance will be gone.” He laughed, then said, “What am I saying? We cruise among the stars and see such wonders as this, and talk of losing the romance.”
“Think we’ll get a chance to go down there?”
“I hope so, but I doubt it. Not unless the situation is completely resolved here, and that seems unlikely.” He frowned, then said, “Lieutenant Grant still is attempting to intervene, even now you are no longer under his temporary command?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Perhaps you ought to seek him out.”
Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “I don’t have the slightest idea what I would say to him.”
With a shrug, Kibaki said, “It would at the very least show good faith on your part if you were to make the attempt, Sub-Lieutenant. Help to render his claims baseless. That seems a small and simple thing to do, and there seems little else to do at the moment. I believe he is in his office right now.”
“What good could it possibly do?”
A benign smile crossing his face, the veteran replied, “It is always best to seek a negotiated solution to a problem, is it not?”
Sighing, Salazar stood up, and said, “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Quite serious. In any event, I must head down to the bridge. I might as well relieve McGuire a little early. Have a good night, Pavel, whatever you choose to do.”
After a moment’s pause, Salazar walked to the elevator, tapping the control for officer’s country. There might be something to what Kibaki had said. Whenever they had clashed, it had always been in a crisis situation, or while they were on duty. Neither had made any attempt to settle their differences, and perhaps he should be the one to take the first step.
Back at the Academy, before the accident, they’d always got along well enough. He’d been a good teacher, a good tactical mind, and the after-action talk-about sessions had been fun with him in the chair.
The doors slid open, and Erickson stepped in, asking, “Going my way?”
“Where to?”
“I was heading down to snatch a late meal before I turned in. Just been reviewing mission data for our strike.”
The doors closed, and he asked, “Why did you volunteer for the shuttle ride, by the way?”
She shrugged, and said, “Grant hand-picked your second for the operation. I know the guy. Sleeps with the manual under his pillow, and an old buddy of his who’d be likely to report back anything you did wrong. I figured the mission might go better if you had someone in the cockpit who you could trust to have your back, and talked Quinn into signing off on it.”
Shaking his head, Salazar said, “Are we really at the stage where there are factions on this ship?”
“You know, usually I can forget you’re new to all of this, but sometimes you still sound like a rook. There are factions on every ship, Pavel. Human nature. Some people like some officers better than others, and there are those who always complain, old war buddies, a hundred little cliques. Usually not quite so bad among the officers because there aren’t as many of you, and on a ship like this which has had one skipper for so long, they’ve started to select each other.”
“I always thought Personnel gave the orders.”
Laughing, she replied, “Maybe for some nowhere space station or tanker, but you’re on one of the most desired postings in the Fleet. Five applicants for every posting. Our Captain gets to pick and choose, and has enough pull to make it stick. That goes double for the officers. Not as if there are that many Admirals around at the moment to interfere, either.” Shaking her head, she replied, “Long may it stay that way. My old man used to be in the UN Fleet, back before the War, and it was all bureaucracy and paperwork. Maybe when our fleet is fifty years old we’ll be the same, but we only formed up, what, five years ago?”
“I just figured...I don’t know what I figured.”
“Figure that the guys at the Academy don’t have much clue how things work out here on the frontier, or that they know well enough but are worried about telling you. And pray that they never work out FTL communications, because that really would mess things up. Right now a ship captain is Master Under God, and gets the last world, because often we can’t wait a month to get approval from someone else.”
The door slid open, and Salazar stepped out, saying, “Thanks for volunteering, anyway. When I’m done with Grant, I’ll swing down to the mess if you’re still there.”
“He call you? You know, he isn’t your department head now. You report to the Captain, so you can tell him to pound sand. Politely, of course.”
Shaking his head, he replied, “Actually, I thought I’d go and see him. Try and see if I can make some sort of peace.”
Placing her hands on her hips, Erickson replied, “I think you are being wildly optimistic. Mind if I hang around, out of sight? This ought to be worth hearing. I’ll buy you a drink afterwards down at the mess.”
“Everything at the mess is free.”
She smiled, and said, “Not everything. I’ll have to introduce you to Grogan’s chemistry set sometime.”
“I might be a while,” he said.
“I wouldn’t bet on that. I’ll just wait back here.”
Shaking his head again, he walked around the curve of the corridor, heading to Grant’s office. Orlova’s technically, but he’d wasted no time in moving in while she was in sickbay, using the excuse that he needed access to the special systems inside. It made sense. Up to a point.
He stepped in, Grant looking up from some paperwork but otherwise not immediately acknowledging his presence. The door closed behind him, and he took another step forward.
“Did you make an appointment that I forgot about, Sub-Lieutenant?”
“No, sir, I didn’t.”
“Then if you don’t mind, I’m rather busy.”
Sitting down opposite him, he said, “Yes, I do mind, and no, you aren’t. Countersigning field reports can wait for a while.”
He looked up, replying, “Are you going to start telling me how to do my job now?”
“Neither of us is doing ours particularly well at the moment.”
“Oh?”
“We need to talk. Sparring like this is going to hurt the ship and the mission, ultimately. It isn’t productive.”
“Are you going to resign?”
Shaking his head, he replied, “That again?”
“If the answer is no, then we don’t have anything to discuss.”
“I think we do.”
“I outrank you, Sub-Lieutenant. You would be well advised to remember that fact.”
Taking a deep breath, Salazar said, “What is it going to take, Lieutenant? Yes, I was responsible for the deaths of two people, people I was responsible for, people I knew.”
“I�
��m glad you appreciate that.” He dropped his stylus, and said, “I don’t think you belong in that uniform.”
“May I speak freely?”
“Anything to get this over with.”
“If I don’t belong in this uniform, sir, then neither do you. If you see through me, then I see through you.”
“And what exactly is it that you see?”
“A desperate man who has made flying fighters the whole purpose of his life, and knows that he is too old to do it any more. Who knows that he’s going to be grounded, and is looking around to find that there is nothing else, nothing for him to hold on to, and so he’s lashing out at anyone around him, and grabbing onto whatever desperate straw he can find.”
“Have you finished?”
Placing his hands on the desk, Salazar continued, “Maggie getting wounded…”
“First-name terms, now, is it? And who was around for that injury, Sub-Lieutenant? Who was the officer who was meant to be looking after her?”
“Maggie getting wounded,” he pressed, “must have seemed like an offering from heaven for you, mustn’t it? A chance to try and convince Captain Marshall that you should have the job full time. He feels sorry for you, damn it, and I don’t have a single damned clue as to why.”
“That’s enough!” Grant yelled. “That is more than enough, Sub-Lieutenant.” He took a deep breath, and said, “I look around this ship, and I see chaos and confusion that is going to get people killed. Familiarity and insubordination that is damn near enshrined into standing orders, officers promoted because people have good feelings about them.”
“The Captain makes those decisions.”
“That’s not good enough! This is important, damn it, this mission is too damn important for it to be thrown away because someone is trying to be nice. It’s a hostile galaxy out there, full of enemies, and we don’t need to toss away what few advantages we have. What would you do in the Captain’s position?”
“I don’t know. I’m not afraid to admit that. But one day, I will.” He glanced down at a datapad, and shook his head, saying, “Commissioning Foster now?”
“Someone needs to take your place on Alpha Watch.”
“Once this mission is over, that will be me. Do you really think that the Captain is going to make your move permanent?”
Leaning back, he said, “I do. Captain Cunningham’s back at Yeager Station, and I don’t think we’re going back there any time soon.”
“Senior Lieutenant Caine is acting Executive Officer.”
“For the moment, but she’s made it quite clear that she doesn’t want the job, which leaves your friend Maggie. Which means that Operations remains my department, and my problem. So I hope you enjoy flying those fighters, Salazar, because I won’t see you set foot on my bridge.”
Shaking his head, he replied, “You have just confirmed everything I have said about you. Can’t you see that? This little web falls apart at the slightest movement. You’re assuming a hell of a lot, not least that you don’t bring the department falling down around your ears.”
“Efficiency…”
“Doesn’t mean a damn thing after a certain level. What matters is that the crew perform well in a crunch, and you haven’t seen them through battle yet. That business back at Houston Station doesn’t count. Ensign Cooper pulled that off, without having to follow your suggestion of massacring hundreds of people.”
“I made the safe decision. The one that would have saved the most lives at the least risk. Captain Marshall…”
“Understands what every fighter pilot knows. That sometimes you’ve got to take the big risk or lose the whole game. You had a hell of a combat record, Lieutenant. You shouldn’t need me to remind you of that.”
“Get out,” he said.
“Fine, but one thing first. As Alpha Watch Officer, I have to countersign that little commissioning slip you are preparing. Not only do I not intend to do so, but I will speak to the Captain myself and inform him that in my opinion, Midshipman Foster is not ready. I think he’ll listen to me.”
“Get out.”
“It’s a pleasure, Lieutenant. I’ll see you on the bridge in a few days.” He walked to the door, stopped, and said, “And leave my people alone. You want to attack me, ruin my career, fine. Do what you want. But not them. They don’t have anything to do with our problems.” He stepped through the door, out into the corridor, and started to breathe heavily as the door closed. Erickson raced up to him, putting her arm around his shoulder.
“I heard some of that,” she said. “I think they heard halfway around the deck. You really do feel protective of us, don’t you?”
“Somehow I got the idea that an officer was responsible for the men and women under his command.”
“Well, speaking purely for myself, thank you.” Shaking her head, she said, “Did you really expect him to be any different?”
“I hoped. With no justification, it appears.”
“It was probably worth a try,” she replied. Looking at the door, she added, “One of these days…”
“Careful,” Salazar said. “You have a career.”
“So do you. Side bet? You make Senior Lieutenant before he does.”
“Now you’re being crazy.”
“Maybe.” She paused, then said, “My roommate’s out for the night. I’ve got a bottle of Grogan’s Finest that’s begging to be broken, and I think you need it.”
“You know what, Spaceman, I’m going to take you up on that.”
Chapter 22
The caverns had proven to be everything that Gurung had promised, and everything that Cooper had feared. Four days of trudging through the tunnels, at times up to their waists in cold, clammy water, a constant drip, drip, drip from the ceiling above, had made even the most space-hardened trooper claustrophobic. He couldn’t deny, though, that they had been effective. A route taking them all the way past the enemy’s outer defenses, leaving them safely undetectable.
One that couldn’t be used against them, either. Half a dozen well placed grenades had seen to that, though he’d been concerned about cutting off their only escape route. The idea of any sort of firefight in these tunnels filled him with dread, though. One man with a machine gun or a plasma weapon could take all of them out in less than a second, and there would be little or nothing he could do about it.
“Halt!” Morton said, leading the column. “Daylight ahead, sir. About a mile.”
“Thank God for that,” Watkins said.
“You might be hoping to be back here soon enough, Private,” Morton replied. “Orders, sir?”
“Two volunteers to scout out ahead.” Nash and Martinez looked at each other, and raised their hands in unison. “Fine, you two. Leave your heavy equipment behind. I want you to travel fast and light.”
“Are we looking for anything specific, sir?” Nash asked.
“Any sign of enemy activity, especially anything aerial, and the best routes to take us down to the base. Stay within a mile of the cave, and if you run into any trouble…”
“Lead them a merry chase through the jungle,” Martinez replied. “We understand, sir.”
“Take a day’s rations with you, just in case. And your sidearms. Be back in ninety minutes at the outside, faster if you can manage it. That should get you back before dawn.”
The two scouts dropped their surplus kit on the ground in a heap, then started down the corridor, heading for the pinpoint of light at the far end. Even though they were heading deep into enemy territory with no prospect of support or assistance if anything went wrong, Cooper knew that everyone in the strike force would gladly trade places with them.
“Shouldn’t we send Gurung, sir?” Robertson asked.
Shaking his head, Gurung replied, “Your officer would be crazy to trust me out on my own, Specialist. And he is quite right to do so. If our places wer
e reversed, I’d put him under constant guard.”
“Thank you for that, Sergeant,” Cooper said. “Besides, I think the time has come to brief the men about what we’re going to be up against.”
Nodding, he pulled out a combat knife, and started to draw markings in the mud, the rest of the men gathering around to watch as he drew a pair of loose circles connected by a narrow tube, scattering crosses and lines liberally around the perimeter.
“This place, among other things, was used as a training station for protected-force training,” he began. “The final test was an attack on the base using non-lethal weapons. Laser dot markers, colored smoke, that sort of thing. One platoon would be the defenders, the other the aggressors.”
“So there are a lot of defenses,” Morton said, shaking his head.
“That’s the bad news. The good news is that the perimeter defenses are mostly non-lethal, at least by themselves. Blinding flares, smoke pits, tangle-foot trenches, that sort of thing.” He gestured at the marks as he spoke, pointing out the obstacles. “If you are under fire, that isn’t going to be much consolation, but it does mean that you can assume that anything outside the domes themselves will be non-lethal.”
“Defensive doctrine?” Cooper asked.
Gurung paused, then said, “I can only tell you what I would have done in that situation if I was following the rulebook. I don’t know what the not-men are planning, and I’ve never seen a copy of their tactical guidelines. Not even sure if they have any.”
“There’s probably a good chance that they are following UN doctrine, though,” Hunt said. “They’ll mostly be using UN soldiers and equipment, and the defenses were laid out according to their instructions. How many of them are we looking at?”
“Something like ten of the not-men, maybe sixty to ninety Rangers. Though I think you can assume that they will not be fighting at their best. Usual doctrine would have the fight outside the domes, in prepared defensive fortifications.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Not In My Name Page 18