Assault: The Globur Incursion Book 6, page 4
“You have kept your crew,” remarked Jones. “I know you have lost your ship. You did get this one back with almost all your crew—against the odds. In this conflict, that is no small victory—not to mention the victory you helped win in the Markus Nebula.”
“Suddenly, it doesn’t seem so long ago,” replied Zenke wistfully. “When we commissioned Phoenix, she was the newest and most capable destroyer in the Fleet. Now we’re sending her to the breakers, scrapping her, so parts of her can go into other ships.”
Jones nodded. “The internal damage was just too great. It’s a credit to your chief engineer that she made it back here.” Jones sighed. “I knew I would find you here. We have a meeting. This is one you may find very interesting. Sort of a final debrief.”
Zenke sighed. “I had not forgotten, or the lampshade duty again tonight. I hope they are going to tell us the end is in sight for these receptions.”
Jones chuckled. “Lampshade duty. I get it. We stand around holding our drinks and looking pretty. That’s not exactly the case, though. We do have to make conversation.”
Zenke shook his head as he watched Phoenix clear the end of the docking slip. “I suppose it doesn’t occur to the august people at these receptions that being asked to tell the story of very unpleasant events repeatedly is not exactly the highlight of our evening.”
Jones cocked his head and looked sideways at Zenke. “No, it does not. They have a victory, and after all the poor news or bad news, at least there is something for them to grab onto. They will never understand the conflict or the sacrifices that we in the Fleet have made.”
Zenke nodded sadly. “I have lost too many good people, and I know that the losses will not end simply because we scored a victory—a costly victory,” he finished, indicating Phoenix as the tugs pulled her away from the docks.
“As if that wasn’t enough,” replied Jones, “I’ve been getting a lot of reports about Fleet people being harassed or being targeted by outright hostile people over the augmentation. It seems the PFP has been busy stirring their pot of propaganda in our absence.”
Zenke held up his hand, looking at the blue hue. “They have no idea why this was necessary. From what I’ve seen, they don’t care. I have had several complaints lodged about members of my ship's company by local businesses. Most of the complaints are from businesses on Albion Prime. They complain about behavior that I have difficulty believing. The stories I get when I hold captain’s mast to deal with disciplinary matters are pretty similar.”
Zenke turned and looked at Jones as Phoenix faded into the distance. “In almost every case, the response from the crew members is that they were minding their own business, and someone decided to harass them, calling them warmongers or claiming they were some sort of abomination. Very few of these turned into anything remotely like a physical exchange, but it is a disturbing trend.”
Jones crossed his arms and smiled. “And then there are the Marines who are just discovering that they can’t get drunk.”
That only brought a halfhearted chuckle from Zenke.
“The die is cast, Karl,” Jones said pointedly. “We can’t change the past, and so we have to move forward with what we are dealt. We have that briefing,” Jones finished as he motioned toward the nearby lift.
“Indeed, we do, sir,” replied Zenke crisply, and both men headed for the lift.
They rode to their destination in silence, even as others got on and off the lift along the way. There was always a flash of recognition and then discrete glances at them before the other people left the lift as it made its way to Fleet headquarters.
At their destination, both men walked together past security to the briefing room selected for the meeting. Both used their links to get directions to the room in the sprawling headquarters complex.
“Are you going to tell me what this meeting is about?” asked Zenke as they approached the hatch. “The invite simply said it was a briefing.”
“It’s about your recommendations, Karl. And mine,” replied Jones. “It’s about getting you a new ship,” he finished as the hatch slid open.
Both officers stopped just inside the door. There was a large table, and Zenke recognized the captains from TF15 on one side of it. On the other side was another group of officers. He only recognized one.
“Rear Admiral Brown,” boomed Jones. “It is a great pleasure to see you.” Jones made his way around the table to meet Brown as he rose. The admirals shared a warm handshake.
“What brings you to headquarters?” asked Jones through a bright grin.
Brown surveyed the room. “It seems I am to be given a new lease on life. I might be useful in the coming operations. We only arrived a few hours ago.”
Jones’s grin grew wider. “Back in from the cold, and about time. It is very good to see you! Did you come on a courier?”
Brown shook his head somberly. “I came aboard my flagship Wallachia. Had to get permission for that, but it was surprisingly easy,” Brown finished thoughtfully. “Waiting around Gateway has been hard for my captains. Watching our comrades take risks and pay the price…”
“It seems that the waiting is over,” replied Jones. “We need your experience and that of your captains. We are barely holding the rim—if you can count holding two systems.”
Brown smiled at last. “It’s an impressive victory. You and Rear Admiral Pang have certainly given the Globur pause. Your methods are a bit unorthodox, but they are successful, and that is what counts in the end. Congratulations on your victory, my friend.”
Jones took a deep breath. “Right place and the right time. The cost was too high. We need to do better.” He thought for a moment. “Do you think this is going to be a joint operation?”
Brown shrugged. “I know we are here to discuss destroyers and future operations. I expect that you got the same. What I do know is that Stukov will likely wait until he thinks we have had time to catch up before he comes through that door.”
Jones nodded. “Well, let’s get settled then.” Jones walked around the table to where TF15’s captains sat. He was keenly aware of the empty chairs. It was something that could not be helped. A standard task force had 16 ships. Lately, some had more, and so the briefing room held 40 chairs. In Fleet tradition, the battleship captains usually settled with the admiral near the front, and then the pecking order went down to the destroyer captains. That was why getting promoted in the Fleet was usually referred to as “moving up the table.”
Jones had returned from the rim with eleven captains but only seven ships. They had rescued captains from the heavily damaged ships, but some of the destroyers had been lost with all hands. The five empty chairs made the walk to the head of the oval table on the opposite side of the room longer. Jones saw his captains watching him. They all had a different look now. It was one he recognized. They were veterans.
He took his seat and looked at the fresh faces across from him. Not quite fresh. But their experience had been a bitter one. They had been stopped from going to the rim because someone wanted to keep an eye on the Peace Fleet. An entire task force had been assigned. Rear Admiral Brown had shadowed the PFP through a dozen systems.
The assignment had been both a curse and a blessing. The People for Peace had manipulated the situation and forced a confrontation with Brown’s task force. He had lost a destroyer with all hands when someone had detonated a warhead after the destroyer had docked with a civilian yacht. It was a loss Jones knew Brown took hard.
The babysitting duty had saved the task force from heading to the rim with shields that were useless against the Globur electron beams. The loss of that destroyer paled in comparison to the carnage Jones had witnessed.
Another task force, ill-equipped as we were then, would never have made a difference, thought Jones as they waited for the briefing to begin. Still, being parked at Gateway in some kind of penance must have been tough. Standing by as other task forces went into battle and suffered losses.
Jones settled back in his chair. Now they are a rare resource. Experienced officers and crews all serving in the same task force for years. They stand alone in that, and it is something we need very badly at the moment.
The hatch slid open to admit the tall form of Vice Admiral Stukov. All the officers stood as he entered the room, followed by an aide.
Stukov made his way to the head of the table. His seat would be between the two task force commanders. He greeted Brown first, as he was the senior officer.
Brown saluted crisply. Task Force 14 reporting, sir,”
Stukov waved his hands and offered a handshake. “Marvin, I’m so glad to have finally brought you and your brave officers here to join the fight.”
Brown seemed a bit surprised at the lack of formality and shook Stukov’s hand. Stukov placed his other hand on top of theirs. “The long wait is over for you and your captains, Rear Admiral Brown. Your service has not been forgotten.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Brown, pleasantly surprised at the warm welcome.
Stukov turned to Jones. “Rear Admiral Jones. Yet another briefing, but there is an end in sight, and there is good news as well,” Stukov said as the pair shook hands.
“Be seated, please,” Stukov motioned for everyone to sit. He took his seat, and his aide took a seat near the bulkhead behind him, as was customary.
Stukov gave the standard security preamble, and everyone nodded their assent. He started the meeting with the topic on everyone’s mind.
“Destroyers,” Stukov began as he surveyed the gathered captains. “In every engagement, the destroyers have suffered heavy damage or been completely destroyed. After the Markus Nebula, only a single destroyer was deemed salvable out of the four assigned to TF15.
“Phoenix made it back, but the damage was just too extensive to save her,” Stukov pointed out. “I am sorry about that, Captain Zenke. She served you well, but as of now, Phoenix is obsolete. I know that the loss of another ship would not sit well with any captain, but I can promise you, Captain Zenke, that your next ship will be far more capable.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Zenke heavily. “I watched her go to the breaking yard today.”
Stukov nodded. “We all know that destroyers have been the utility warship of the Fleet for centuries. Small and easily crewed, they could deal with most situations in space, including being just large enough to carry a Marine contingent.”
Heads around the table nodded. Stukov continued. “The problem is that the destroyers are the key for missile and fighter defense for their task force. We have found that their point defense is sorely missed when they are destroyed or taken out of action. We have also found they are entirely ineffective when it comes to dealing with Globur attack ships. Changes must be made. Thoughts?” Stukov looked at Jones.
“Thank you, sir,” replied Jones. “My after-action report, which is echoed by Rear Admiral Pang, contains some specific recommendations. We found that even interceptor missiles and point defense were unable to deal with the Globur attack ships, and the Globur carrier has more attack ships than we have light and medium fighters. Missile defense and interdictions are effective, but the destroyers are the first casualties when the Globur get into beam range.”
Stukov turned to Rear Admiral Brown. “I have read the after-action reports from the Ming system and the Markus Nebula. I read the report from the action on the Mongolia systems again on the way here. I agree that the destroyers are a weak link in the task force in terms of capability. We need better defense against the Globur attack ships, and we need destroyers that are more survivable.” Heads nodded. “We need something that can go toe to toe with a Globur destroyer-class ship and survive.”
Stukov looked around the room. “I have read the recommendations, and contrary to popular belief, Fleet headquarters does more than arrange cocktail parties.” Smirks appeared on some of the captain’s faces as others contemplated the table, concentrating on keeping a straight face. Jones caught a wink from Zenke.
“We have held up TF16 commissioning and deployment for two reasons. The first is that we never want to send out another task force like TF15, with only two battleships. The second is that we have been trying to incorporate some of the suggested improvements into the new destroyers.”
The holodisplay lit up and showed a warship. “The Fleet will be issuing a communique to all task forces that all tidal-class destroyers will be redesignated as tidal-class corvettes. The new destroyers are the sword class. They are 26% larger than the previous class and carry much more powerful shields and laser batteries.”
The hologram of the ship rotated, highlighting its laser batteries as Stukov continued. “The sword-class destroyers will not be faster but will be much more heavily armored than the tidal class. The laser batteries will be almost on par with those of a cruiser.”
A few dozen point-defense clusters were also highlighted. “Point defense is largely upgraded. The system is experimental but boasts a 62% increase in beam irradiance. We do not know if this will significantly damage a Globur attack ship, but it should do much more damage than previously.”
The captains were all nodding their approval.
“Sir?” Jones spoke up. “These new destroyers? When will we be able to get them into existing task forces?”
“A good question,” replied Stukov. “We have had to modify hulls significantly in the process of completion, but the first purpose-built sword class should be ready for commissioning in a few weeks at the most. The good news is that the destroyers in TF16 and TF17 are the sword class. TF14 will be upgraded next and then TF13.”
Stukov flipped the specs on the new destroyers to each captain for review.
Jones, like the other captains, scanned the information with their implants.
“That brings to the pleasant part of this meeting,” Stukov announced.
He turned to Brown. “Rear Admiral Brown. You are hereby relieved of command of Task Force 14.”
Brown tried to hide his annoyance and disappointment.
“It is my pleasure to relieve you, Admiral,” continued Stukov. “You are hereby assigned to Task Force 16 as commander. You may continue to fly your flag from Wallachia. Congratulations.” Stukov’s smile was quickly matched by Brown’s.
“Thank you, sir. I will not disappoint you,” replied Brown, beaming.
“That,” Stukov said in a pleased voice. “is something I do not doubt.”.
Chapter 4
Things were winding down at the reception. It was another plush ballroom at a high end hotel near the Albion yards. As usual, there was a mix of Fleet people and civilians. The civilians were mostly affiliated with the Senate, Fleet service, or contract companies.
John Forest had just finished telling what he knew of his story yet again to some wide-eyed political functionary. He had the story down pat and added a few harmless embellishments and dramatic pauses that seemed to help people better understand the critical role he had played at the Markus Nebula. It made the story better, but it was still the same story.
The media or Fleet public affairs had dubbed him the Hero of the Markus Nebula. He had made the victory possible, and he had risked everything to join the battle – so they said. He just wished he could remember how he’d done it, why he had done it.
He took another pull on his drink. Gotta lubricate the pipes, he thought.
John could see his two Marine minders over by the bar, not that they were drinking. Their dress blues were not as formfitting as they could be, a sure sign they were armed. They simply scanned the room and maintained contact with the security personnel at the event. No one from the Senate ever went anywhere outside the Senate or their home without some security, and so these events monitored who came and went. The hotel and Senate security simply shared the feed with the Marines using their implants.
He had been assigned a liaison. Lieutenant Commander Miku. She was with Fleet public affairs. The petite officer was a veritable ball of energy. She was always trying to steer John toward more people and making sure that he was occupied. It was she who had coached him on the story to make it better, more interesting, and engaging. John wrinkled his nose, remembering how he had learned that marketing was not actually lying, but it did skirt the edges of honesty a little too vigorously for him.
Miku was also a bit of a slave driver. After the official ceremony where he was decorated for bravery, she had him at a minimum of two events each day and a reception almost every night.
With a few moments to himself, John thought about the first time he had met the Lieutenant Commander. She was all business and had lain down the law pretty hard. She had pointedly directed him not to discuss his duty assignment and the experimental fighter. That sure wasn’t a problem since John could only recall events after waking up on Outpost 24 over Aradin some weeks ago.
Miku had him practice the story in front of her and had coached the appropriate version out of him. That had actually been his last free day. He was like a prize pony that had a shelf life. He had to be on display. Out in the crowd, shaking hands, telling his story, and pretending to be impressed by the things people told him. John was practiced at being polite, but he sometimes could not help the small, sarcastic jibes that escaped his lips. At least, he viewed them as small.
The whole story felt strange to him. As if it had happened to someone else. He was certainly wounded. The head wound that had robbed his memory and the amputated leg, the cracked ribs, and sternum were all very real. From what he had been told, his fighter was a wreck. The whole story still somehow felt wrong, no matter how many times he practiced it with Miku. It was a nagging feeling that he sometimes had, like he was being told a story that he was the main character in. Things were often familiar, and other things occasionally just struck him as wrong—slightly off. Some things felt right. Piloting a fighter, being in the Fleet facilities, being a Fleet officer. The whole Markus Nebula and the conflict with the Globur just did not feel familiar at all.
The schedule was near its end, and John figured he would be returning to the top-secret facility where he was told he had tested the fighter before leaving for the rendezvous with TF15 in the Chard system. He was not even sure where the secret facility was, and the people he had been in contact with were not authorized to know—yet another irony of the Fleet.
