Tales From the War (Kinsella Universe Book 5)

by Gina Marie Wylie

  She grinned. “I thought you might. Still, I'll leave it to you to make the notification.”

  IX

  The next day, the captain called Rachael and told her her plan was approved and that he'd make the crew announcement next.

  “Yes, sir. Sir, if I may have a word with you on another topic?”

  “Of course, Commander.”

  “Early in the patrol, when Chief Vargas and I moved in together, you thoughtfully doubled the area of our bed.”

  “And, as you'll recall, I apologized for being thoughtless.”

  “Yes, sir. Still, Chief Vargas explained the nature of practical jokes among Rim Runners. We decided, sir, that it would only be fair if we paid you back for all of that thoughtfulness. So we've a little surprise for you before we get back to Earth.”

  “A surprise?”

  “Yes, sir. A secret sort of surprise. I'm afraid, sir, you'll just have to wait and be surprised.”

  He laughed. “Commander Ferris, I must say that when you set out to reduce ignorance, you do a bang-up job. I can hardly wait!”

  “Sir, I can't help but think that that comment was intended to elicit some sort of response that would characterize how long you were going to have to wait and for what. Sir, it's a secret.”

  “Roger that, then Commander. Should I hold my breath?”

  “It's a secret, sir. You wouldn't want to me to tell secrets that easily, would you?”

  “No, but I hate surprises. No clues?”

  “One, sir. It will be a surprise. Ferris, out, sir.”

  X

  They climbed above the galactic plane, stopping once about five light years from the nearest member of the cluster. They used their most sensitive instruments and detected nothing; then they closed with the stars and started exploring. While the cluster was devoid of crazed aliens, there was a star with two planets in the habitable zone, and three more with one each. Each planet was given a cursory examination, and then they were off to the next stop.

  No one minded; before it would have been considered a bonanza. They shaped their final course for home and everyone, at long last, relaxed the least bit.

  As soon as Captain Lemain noted it however, he was on the PA system again.

  “I'm not a defeatist. We'd won a battle before we left and we lost two. That's not exactly a large sample size. I want you all to contemplate some possibilities.

  “We could be blowing alien ships out of the sky like popcorn, and they are reeling back, fully on the defensive. We could arrive at Earth and find a glowing cinder. Or anything in between.

  “I don't think we've lost Earth; but it's something I have to account for in my planning. I expect to find that we're being pushed back, but we've won some battles and lost more. Which way the numbers are running, I'd hate to speculate. We must be prepared for any eventuality, be it good news or bad. We left very early in the war; the same day, in fact, that we learned we were at war.

  “It will have been nearly seven months by the time we return; things will have changed. We must be in all respects ready for whatever the news is. Please; if you have issues or problems -- see Chief Vargas or myself. Talk to your friends, your crew mates. Don't despair, but don't get cocky. There is simply no telling what we will find.”

  Rachael could see that the comments had a significant impact on the I-Branch personnel. They talked a lot, and there was some anxiety, but firm determination that underlain everything else. They'd dealt with what they'd had on their plate so far; they would deal with what came to their plate next.

  The were due to come off of High Fan a little after 0500 ship's time. The word had already been passed that they would go to battle stations at 0400 and so it wasn't a surprise when the captain announced that the Captain's Table would be set at 1900 hours the night before, instead of the usual 2100 hours. Officers not on watch usually showed up... it wasn't like they had anything else to do.

  Rachael was sitting right next to the captain and she made no sign that anything untoward was about to happen.

  That changed as the captain was nearly finished eating. There was a single loud “boom” of a bass drum being hit, followed instantly by a gaggle of flutes and piccolos. A man bearing bass drum strode into the mess directly in front of the captain, beating a march time, while the flutes and piccolos played something that Rachael recognized as something from the American Civil War. They stopped a few paces away from the captain, and the drummer hit one last note on his drum.

  “Captain, sir, we, the musically inclined members of your crew, insisted on first licks, sir.”

  Captain Lemain frowned, not really understanding.

  Then from behind him, bagpipes skirled and he craned to look. The rest of the crew had been assembled in the kitchen, and they marched behind the two pipers.

  Rachael had gotten permission from the XO to leave only critical posts manned; everyone else on Shenandoah's crew was there.

  They marched around the table, to stop near the others... everyone in the mess was standing by then. It was then that Captain Lemain noticed the prosaic ice cream pint sitting next to his plate. As soon as his attention had been distracted, Rachael had moved it from its cold storage container secreted under the table in advance, to its current position.

  “On behalf of your crew, Captain,” Rachael told him. “We thought you deserved your reward for a job very well done, just a bit early.”

  He reached out and picked it up. “Wow! Commander, you are a woman of many talents! This is so cold my fingers are sticking to it! And butter pecan as well!”

  The Chief of the Ship came through the spectators and saluted. “Sir, on behalf of the enlisted members of the crew, we thank you as well for a job done splendidly.”

  The captain gravely returned the salute and smiled at the gathered members of the crew. “I just checked; it seems some clever person has been carefully managing the ice cream stocks. There is enough for everyone to have a pint. Master Chief, will you see to it that those on watch aren't short-changed?” He laughed. “I assume there are still people on watch.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. There are indeed people on watch.”

  It was an early night for the two friends to curl into bed together, and as they'd done on the first night, they simply hugged each other.

  XI

  The next morning everyone was as professional as they could be, even if everyone was sweating the return to normal space.

  They emerged on the tick and a few moments later, communications reported latch frame detection, followed quickly by navigation's fixing their position.

  They reported their arrival and were given permission to approach Grissom Station. A half hour later they were ten light minutes from Earth, sending the remaining portion of their report down to Fleet Headquarters. They were given a docking location, and another half hour passed and they arrived.

  Captain Lemain had retired to his Ready Room almost at once to read the first dispatches from the Fleet. He came out just moments before they docked.

  He spoke to the ship's crew once again. “We're docked at Grissom Station. While we will officially remain at action stations, you may all have ten minutes for a biological break. Then I will speak again.”

  Rachael stood at her position, long since moved to the bridge, a million thoughts running through her head. She'd prepared a series of reports about the ship, in conjunction with the captain and Commander Warren. They were easily her worst work, ever.

  She wasn't too worried about what Douglas was going to say; if anyone would understand he would. There was almost nothing she could report about their mission other than they'd had one, they'd completed it and had returned. Even comments about success or failure weren't permitted. So, most of her stories had been human interest stories, with people passing general messages back to their families.

  After ten minutes the captain spoke again. Rachael eyed the Ready Room; she'd expected him to come out on the bridge.

  “There is no easy way to do w
hat has to be done now,” he told them. “We aren't the first ship to return with little or no knowledge of what's happened in the war to date.

  “None of the survey parties have yet to find even one planet of our enemies.

  “As I said, there's no good way to do the rest of this. Data is being downloaded even as we speak, into Shenandoah's computer. When I finish speaking, you'll be able to ask about the status of loved ones. The Federation has attempted the Herculean effort of keeping an accurate casualty list. Considering how our enemies make war, it isn't perfect. It does contain, however, the names of all the known dead, plus the names of the lost ships, habitats and colonies.

  “What I'm going to do now is read you a list of names. These are the colonies that have been destroyed since the war started. There have been many successful defenses, but the list of lost colonies is 634 systems long.”

  He started reading the names then. It went on for more than an hour, a steady drumbeat that numbed the senses. It was, in a way, like getting a massive shot of anesthesia -- after a bit, you couldn't feel anything, even when there was a familiar name. Or a name that was more than familiar.

  When he read the name Pasadena, Rachael reflected back on the university world where she'd finished her doctoral work on astrogeology, and from where she'd flown two survey missions. The planet had one of the nicer climates in the Federation, although rather too much ocean for most people's tastes. Now it was gone. So very, very much was gone...

  Captain Lemain finished up. “Now, I have to shuttle down to HQ. They won't say what for, but we've already transmitted our logistical requirements and those will start loading shortly.

  “I know we could all use a rest; but I don't think that's at all likely.”

  He dismissed them from battle stations, but before Rachael could return to I-Branch, he intercepted her. “I've sent down a request for you to stand for the bridge watch-keeping exam. Day after tomorrow, at 0900, here on Grissom. Do us proud, Rachael!”

  She nodded, a lump in her throat. How could he bear the load?

  Commander Warren waved her into her office as soon as she arrived. “Close the door,” Rachael was told.

  Rachael did so, and looked at her boss without expression.

  “For this mission, I was your rating officer. I ran your Efficiency Report past the captain, and he has given his preliminary okay, subject to any comments that you might wish to make.”

  She slid two pages towards Rachael and she picked them up and silently read them. It was, all things considered, a very sterling report.

  She looked up at Commander Warren who nodded. “When you came aboard, I was one of those contemptuous. You weren't qualified, ergo you weren't fit. I had my nose rubbed in who had declared you fit, so I had to go along, against my better judgment.

  “I let my prejudices guide me, Commander. That was wrong. You were indeed unqualified, but you repeatedly demonstrated your fitness. You worked to remedy your lack of qualifications and there will not be anyone in the Fleet who can gainsay you the marks you earned or the speed with which you've earned them.

  “I've already had access to some of the very top level Fleet Intelligence digests. You will find that while you aren't mentioned in them, you will be. Admiral Nagoya and Admiral Fletcher realized early in the war that we needed far more line officers than we could normally produce, given our usual training regimen.

  “It was their thesis, since repeatedly vindicated, that young people could be pushed into positions for which they were nominally unqualified for, but quite fit to hold. While you no doubt think of yourself as quite remarkable, there's a young woman out there who, ten months ago before the war started, was a sixteen year old student, slated for the Gagarin school. Today's she's a full commander, heading the weapons department of a cruiser even larger than Shenandoah -- and the second most decorated officer in the war. She is just one of several such people, all of whom have done their duty in an extraordinary fashion.”

  She lofted the evaluation. “If you sign off on this, so will the captain. When I submit it to BuPers, I will include a request for transfer for myself and recommendation that you replace me.”

  Rachael didn't hesitate, she signed on the dotted line.

  XII

  That night in their quarters, she and Vargas said nothing. They wrapped their arms around each other and held on for dear life, through a long and bitter night. When Rachael awoke, Vargas was gone and Rachael asked Shenandoah where she was, to learn that she was back counseling crew members.

  That night Rachael was prepared to do more cuddling, but Vargas was back to her normal self. “When I first set out on my quest to be Chief of a Ship, I asked myself what would be the worst imaginable catastrophe that I could face. Being young and full of myself, my private fear was a disaster that left me alone; the only survivor of a catastrophe.

  A few weeks later I turned the corner; I finally realized what the worst catastrophe I could imagine was: that I died and everyone else lived. That I wouldn't be there to do my duty.

  “Then Chief O'don'ya killed herself; there was no way for me to understand that act. When I finally realized the real truth, I was embarrassed more than anything else. The worst thing I can imagine is the ship failing in its duty. It's not me, it's not others, it's our duty that counts.”

  She looked at Rachael. “Did you look at the records of the young woman the captain talked about?”

  Rachael nodded her head. “I thought it would be heartening. Now, I'm not sure.”

  “It is heartening... but you have to be careful, Rachael. There are other things that are important. The young woman started as a raw recruit, not seventeen years old. There are others, the same age.”

  Rachael nodded. “I'm beginning to feel elderly.”

  “Don't Rachael. What you are is competent; fit for the duties assigned you. So are these young people that Admirals Nagoya and Fletcher put such great stock in.” Her friend punch Rachael's arm. “Now, my sweet Rache, tomorrow you have this minor, trivial and insignificant test to pass. You do need to get some sleep.”

  Later, certificate in hand, Captain Lemain shook her hand and congratulated her.

  Rachael just shrugged.

  “Well, some news, Commander Ferris, some good, some bad, some indifferent -- all depending on your point of view, I suppose. Commander Warren will be off the ship in an hour. She'll be going out on another cruiser in the next week or so.

  “They've made you my intelligence officer... and BuPers had kittens at the thought of promoting someone full commander when the ink wasn't even dry yet on her bridge certificate. So, for the time being, you'll stay a lieutenant commander.

  “Yesterday they alerted me that we'd be going right back out as a survey ship, since all of the surveys have failed so far to locate our enemies. Then they read my report. We aren't going right back out and we won't be going as a survey vessel.”

  Vargas appeared and the captain waved her to come in his Ready Room. “I have a recording I will play for you both. It isn't the usual sort of thing you see in the Fleet.”

  There was a short bit of a young ensign, a woman, asking a question of someone Rachael recognized as Admiral Nagoya, the Commander of Fleet Operations, the head of Fleet Aloft. “She's asking how many survey ships will be sent out,” Captain Lemain said. “I might add, that this happened yesterday.”

  Then the young officer made a proposal, only to be shut down by a rear admiral, talking about possible casualties. The young woman unfolded herself from her seat, much taller than Rachael had imagined. Her face was rigid and she was screaming at the assembled brass. Screaming obscenities.

  Captain Lemain was blunt. “It doesn't take a rocket scientist to deduce that this wasn't what was expected.”

  “Good grief!” Vargas exclaimed. “I assume the next few minutes are this young woman being roasted, toasted and sent back to Third Form.”

  “The numbers she's talking about are the Fleet estimate that fighters, like the one sh
e pilots, will suffer one percent casualties on extended missions. The mission she's talking about is parking our one and only Fleet carrier in the middle of a group of unsurveyed stars and letting the fighters check for aliens.”

  Instead of the young woman being given a purple rockets, the officers lining the room began to shout the same thing, over and over again. Captain Lemain turned off the recording.

  “Like I said, they estimate that one percent of the fighters will suffer fatal malfs on such missions. The officers around the periphery of that conference room were the COs and XOs of the fighter squadrons.”

  “Wow!” Vargas said. “I guess they're very motivated.”

  “I'd say so,” the captain agreed.

  “As for us, Shenandoah is going in for some significant modifications. When we come out of refit we'll have two fusion power plants, not one. Instead of six lasers, we'll have eight, and they won't just be anti-missile any more -- they can reach out a couple of light seconds and kill a ship.

  “Once upon a time that amount of work would have taken twelve or thirteen months. Now they say, six weeks. Instead of survey, we'll be the senior escort for the carrier. And, by the by, you two are seconded to the carrier's staff to help with a search plan while we're undergoing the refit -- as you once said, Commander Ferris -- where we start is as important as any other part of the mission.”

  He shrugged. “And lets face it: right now we haven't got a clue about where to start. The carrier's work up is essentially complete; they'll be waiting on us. Most of our people are going to be off the ship so that BuShips can work their magic as rapidly as possible.

  “Pack your bags; we'll be departing for the carrier in two hours. I'll be coming back right away, the two of you won't be.

  “Life will be interesting for the foreseeable future,” he told them.

  It was.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR