by David Weber
But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else going on here. Something that maybe she should look into.
She straightened her shoulders. And why not? Long was a good officer, and Castillo was a decent and competent captain, whom she was on good enough terms with. And there was certainly no reason two captains who happened to be within easy conversation range shouldn’t have a little chat about things. Especially when both of them were coming off an important exercise.
“Com, send a signal to Phoenix,” she ordered. “My compliments to Captain Castillo, and ask when it would be convenient for me to have a private discussion with him.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“And,” Metzger added, “make sure to emphasize the word private.”
* * *
“Secure from Readiness One,” Castillo ordered. “Resume course to Manticore, and get the spin section back up to speed.”
He turned back to Travis. “First lesson of combat, Mr. Long: always be ready for the unexpected. In this case, because we weren’t accelerating and were on a fairly predictable course, Invincible was able to slip a second missile into the wedge shadow of the first. If the attacker is very clever with his timing, he can arrange it so that the rear missile burns out its wedge at the same time the forward one impacts the target’s wedge. With nothing showing, a pitched target will have just enough time to resume attitude as the second missile enters kill range.”
“Sometimes the tell is a bit of the second wedge peeking through during the drive,” Sladek added. “It can also show up as a sluggishness in the first missile’s maneuvering as its telemetry control is eclipsed by the one behind it.”
“Yes, Sir,” Travis said. And if the missile was kicked out with a fusion booster, as most RMN missiles were, there would also be a telltale flare when it was launched, plus a slight decrease in the attacking ship’s acceleration to give the missile time to get a safe distance before lighting up its wedge.
All of that had been in his tactics classes back at Division Officer’s School, of course. But in the heat of the moment, and with the role of command unexpectedly thrust upon him—
He cut off the train of thought. Rather, the train of excuses. He’d been given a job, and he’d failed. Pure and simple.
And if it hadn’t been an exercise, with a practice missile instead of the real thing, he and everyone aboard Phoenix would probably be dead. “Yes, Sir,” he said again. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
Castillo grunted as he unstrapped from his station. “No need to be sorry, Lieutenant. There’s just a need to learn.” He waved at the tac display. “As I said, that kind of trick takes careful timing and a great deal of skill. But it also requires a fair amount of luck. Your job as an officer of the Royal Manticoran Navy is to cultivate both. And to always assume that your opponent has done likewise.”
He floated out of his chair, steadied himself a moment, then gave himself a shove that sent him floating swiftly across the bridge. Quickly, Travis moved sideways to get out of his way. “Mr. Sladek, return ship to Readiness Five,” the captain called over his shoulder. “Mr. Long, you may return to your station for debriefing.”
“Yes, Sir,” Travis said. Lesson delivered, and lesson learned, and the captain was back to business as usual.
Travis would remember the day’s lesson, he promised himself. The whole lesson.
Very, very well.
* * *
“Understand, Allegra,” Castillo said, “that what I’ve told you is to remain strictly between the two of us.”
“Of course,” Metzger said, a sour taste in her mouth. So simple. So obvious.
And really, so inevitable.
Lieutenant Travis Long, an inventive and clever young man, but an absolute rule-stickler, especially where proper maintenance and operational procedure were concerned. Ensign Fenton Locatelli, not inventive at all, driven by a sense of family history toward a greatness that could only be earned and wouldn’t be his for years, if it ever was. Of course the two of them would clash. And clashing over maintaining a piece of junk equipment that neither had realized was damaged and couldn’t be maintained had drawn the attention of the ensign’s justly distinguished uncle.
Castillo was a good officer, and a good captain. But he was also acutely aware of how the Star Kingdom worked, and of the turmoil that rumbled at the political intersection of Navy and Lords. Long’s ongoing trouble with Ensign Locatelli not only could be played to the advantage of the Navy’s opponents somewhere down the line, but it also put Castillo’s own position and standing at risk.
And so when the opportunity had presented itself, he’d opted to give Long a reminder that no one was perfect.
Only it wouldn’t work, Metzger knew. Long might be cowed for now, but sooner or later his inability to look the other way on these things would reassert itself. And if Ensign Locatelli got in the way, Long wouldn’t hesitate to write him up.
Long was a good spacer. But he really had no idea how the political games were played.
And she was pretty sure Castillo knew it, too.
“What are your plans?” she asked.
“Ideally, I’d like to separate them,” Castillo said heavily. “Leave one in Forward Weapons and move the other to Aft Autocannon. The problem is that Long is really too qualified to kick back there, and I doubt the admiral would take kindly to me moving his nephew.”
“How about simply transferring one of them off your ship?”
“How?” Castillo countered. “I’ve more or less promised to keep Locatelli for a while—don’t ask—and last I checked there weren’t any likely Gunnery Officer openings in the fleet where I could put Long.”
“How about something on shore?”
“He just came out of BuShips. Sending him back would probably look bad on his record, and I really don’t want to do that to him. Personality clashes aside, he’s really a pretty good officer.”
“And a smart one, too,” Metzger said, a sudden thought occurring to her. It would be a bit of a stretch, but nothing so far out of the ordinary that it would raise any red flags. “What was your assessment of Long’s performance? Off the record?”
“Off the record, he did okay,” Castillo said. “Especially considering he was thrown into it without any warning. A little more experience and training and he’ll probably make a pretty fair tactical officer.”
“How about right now?” Metzger asked. “Not TO, of course, but ATO?”
“You know an ATO slot that’s open?”
“Maybe,” Metzger said. “Casey is just about finished with her refit. Maybe that slot’s still open.”
“You must be joking,” Castillo said with a snort. “Half the RMN wants aboard that ship.”
“Which means it may still be under consideration,” Metzger pointed out. “If I were you, I’d send the suggestion directly to Defense Minister Dapplelake.”
There was a short pause. “Dapplelake,” Castillo repeated, his tone gone a little flat. “Is there something about Long that I should know, Captain?”
“Nothing relevant,” Metzger hedged. There were details about the Secour incident that were still known only to the Star Kingdom’s top leaders, details which Metzger herself was still under orders not to talk about.
But the Defense Minister knew all about Long’s contribution in turning that potential disaster into a slightly tarnished victory. He knew, and King Edward knew. Between them, they should be able to pull all the necessary strings.
“All I can tell you is that the Defense Minister has all the relevant data,” she added.
“All right, I’ll give it a try,” Castillo said. “But only because you’ve got me intrigued. And if it actually goes through, you’re going to owe me a drink.”
“Next time we’re on Manticore,” Metzger promised.
“And,” Castillo added, “you’re going to owe me an explanation. One that’s as every bit as full as my glass.”
“Absolutely,” Metzger said with a s
mile. “One half-full glass, on me.”
* * *
For the next five days Travis walked around on figurative eggshells, waiting for the inevitable fallout from his part in the fiasco.
To his surprise, no such fallout materialized. Or at least nothing materialized in his direction. There were vague rumors that Captain Castillo was spending an unusual amount of time in his cabin on the com with System Command, but no details were forthcoming and Travis himself was never summoned into his presence. Given that Phoenix was about to settle in for some serious refitting, chances were good that that was the main topic of any such extended communications.
Phoenix was slipping into its designated slot in Manticore orbit, and Travis was finally starting to breathe easy again, when the shoe finally dropped.
* * *
“You’re joking,” Fornier said, staring wide-eyed from across the cabin. “After all that, you’re being promoted?”
“I’m being transferred, anyway,” Travis corrected. “I still think the promotion is a mistake.”
“Please,” Fornier said dryly. “BuPers doesn’t make mistakes like that. Or at least, they don’t admit to it. Besides, just getting put aboard Casey is a hell of a step up all by itself.”
“Maybe,” Travis growled as he arranged his dress uniform tunic carefully at the top of his travelbag. “But if Locatelli’s behind this, hell may very well be the relevant neighborhood.”
Fornier shook his head. “You’re way too young to be this cynical,” he said. “Anyway, who says Locatelli’s hand is anywhere near this? For all you know it was Castillo who recommended you for Casey’s ATO.”
“With my sterling performance on the bridge during that drill cementing it?” Travis shook his head. “Not likely.”
“Fine,” Fornier said, clearly starting to lose his patience. “So Castillo decided you needed a lesson in humility. Welcome to the human race. But maybe while he was delivering the message he also saw something he liked about you, some potential that hadn’t come through before.”
“I doubt it,” Travis said. “About all I did was regurgitate what was in the manual. Or half of what was in the manual. No, given Heissman’s reputation, I think they all just want me out from under Castillo’s fatherly care and underneath a genuine hammer for a while.”
For a moment Fornier was silent. Travis looked around the cabin, mentally counting out the items he’d already packed and trying to figure out if he’d missed anything.
“There are two ways to approach life, Travis,” Fornier said into his thoughts. “One: you can expect that everyone’s out to get you, and be alert and ready for trouble at every turn. Or two: you can assume that most people are friendly or at least neutral, and that most of the time things will work out.”
“Seems to me option two is an invitation to get walked on.”
“Oh, I never said you don’t need to be ready for trouble.” Fornier grinned suddenly. “Hey, we’re Navy officers. It’s our job to be ready for trouble. I’m just saying that if you’re always expecting betrayal, you’re never going to be able to trust anyone.” He shrugged. “And speaking from my own experience, there are a fair number of people out there who are worth your trust. Not all of them. But enough.”
“Maybe,” Travis said, sealing his travelbag and picking it up. “I’ll take it under advisement.” He held out his hand. “It’s been great serving and rooming with you, Brad. Keep in touch, okay?”
“Will do,” Fornier promised, grasping Travis’s hand in a firm grip and shaking it. “Best of luck.”
BOOK THREE
1543 PD
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
There was a soft tone from the repeater display in Llyn’s cabin aboard Score Settler. Starting awake from his light doze, he checked the readout.
Finally—finally—a hyper footprint. McConnovitch and Hosney had arrived.
Llyn rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, feeling a surge of relief. The bulk of the Volsung task force had been orbiting this uninhabited red-dwarf for the past two weeks, with only one of the battlecruisers still absent, and Gensonne was starting to get twitchy. The fresh data McConnovitch was bringing in from Manticore should allay the admiral’s lingering concerns about the particulars of the force he would be facing.
Another ping came from the board, this one marking an incoming transmission.
Llyn rolled his eyes. It wouldn’t be McConnovitch—Hosney was still a good nine light-minutes out. Undoubtedly Gensonne.
And of course, it was. “Is that finally your man?” the admiral growled.
“Yes, I believe so,” Llyn said.
“About time,” Gensonne said sourly. “He’d better have something good after all this.”
“I’m sure he will,” Llyn said, sitting firmly on his patience. McConnovitch was a good man, and one of the best data scavengers in the business. But he tended to play a little loose with plans and timetables. Given the nature of his work, that wasn’t unreasonable.
Gensonne, unfortunately, was at the opposite end of the spectrum, treating his precious schedules like they’d been handed to him on stone tablets. McConnovitch hadn’t kept to that schedule, and the admiral hadn’t been shy about stating his view of such sloppiness on a regular basis.
But the waiting was finally over. Once McConnovitch confirmed the RMN’s weakness, Llyn could turn the Volsungs loose and then head off to where his Axelrod superiors waited to hear that the operation was finally underway. By the time Gensonne had Landing and the Manticoran government under control, Axelrod’s people would be on their way to take over.
Or rather, the nation Axelrod had now made a deal with to “invade” and “conquer” the Star Kingdom. The handful of Axelrod “advisors” who would also be aboard those ships would be staying very much in the background, guiding the actions only if and when necessary.
And like any good puppet show, if they did their job properly, the hard-eyed critics in Haven and the League would never see the strings.
The minutes ticked down; and precisely on the nine-light-minute timetable, Llyn’s com pinged. “I’m getting his transmission now,” he told Gensonne. “I’ll send it on after I’ve decrypted it.”
Gensonne gave a little grunt.
“Make it fast.”
“As fast as I can,” Llyn promised. “But he’ll be running a semi-manual encryption, which means I’ll need to work through it partly by hand.”
“You’re joking,” Gensonne said with another grunt. “You never hear of computer encryption algorithms?”
“Sure,” Llyn said. “They’re the ones a good hacker can grab and use to open your whole com system to unfriendly eyes and ears. Sometimes the old classics work best.”
“If you say so. Just hurry it up.”
“I will.”
Llyn keyed off and checked the new transmission. It was a data packet, and the origination ID was indeed Hosney.
He frowned, feeling a prickling on the back of his neck. No greeting, no identification, just the data packet? That didn’t sound like McConnovitch.
The transmission ended, and the report came up on his display. Frowning, Lynn began to read.
And the prickling on his neck turned into a shiver.
Green Force Two, scout unit, call-signed Janus: four ships.
Green Force One, main Manticore/Sphinx defense unit, call-signed Aegis: nine ships, including two battlecruisers. Not one, but two.
Red Force, Gryphon defense unit, call-signed Backstop: four ships, including yet another battlecruiser.
Llyn leaned back in his seat, mouthing a curse. The ten-ship, one-battlecruiser enemy that Gensonne was expecting to meet was in fact seventeen ships and no fewer than three battlecruisers. And that didn’t even count the two battlecruisers and six other warships that McConnovitch marked as being currently in refit.
Gensonne wasn’t going to be happy about this. Not at all. In fact, he might be unhappy enough to take his ball and go home.
And given the unanticipa
ted uptick in the RMN’s numbers, the contract Llyn and Gensonne had signed not only allowed the Volsungs to bail, but also required Axelrod to pay them a hefty cancellation fee.
There was no way Llyn was going to let that happen. Not after coming this far.
Taking a cleansing breath, he began combing methodically through the numbers.
Looked at more closely, it wasn’t that bad. Not really. Green Forces One and Two were a formidable array, but the fact that they were split into two groups meant that Gensonne should be able to take them on one at a time. Even if he couldn’t, it was still two RMN battlecruisers against the Volsungs’ three.
Even better, Red Force was way the hell over at Manticore-B. Those ships should be out of the picture until long after the battle was over. And of course, all the ships in dock for refit might as well not even be there.
No, Gensonne wasn’t going up against anything he couldn’t handle. Not with his three battlecruisers, his fourteen other ships, and his massive confidence.
There was certainly no reason to bother the admiral’s little head with silly numbers and needless concerns.
He finished his editing, then keyed for transmission to Gensonne’s flagship.
“I’ve decoded the report, Admiral. Sending it to you now.”
“Thank you,” Gensonne said. “I trust nothing has changed since your last report?”
“Nothing of significance,” Llyn assured him. “Nothing at all.”
* * *
Commodore Rudolph Heissman, commander of the light cruiser HMS Casey and the other three ships of Green Two, was undoubtedly a very busy man. Nevertheless, from Travis’s point of view at the far side of Heissman’s desk, it looked like he was taking an extraordinarily long time to read through Travis’s transfer orders. Seated beside him, Commander Celia Belokas, Heissman’s exec, didn’t look to be in any more of a hurry than her boss.
Finally, after a mid-sized eternity, Heissman looked up. “Lieutenant Long,” he said, his flat tone not giving anything away. “According to this, you have great potential.”