A Dark and Dirty War, page 19
“You can always ask the next time you see her. After a tour with the 101st, she’ll be posted here.”
Holt chuckled. “You’ve become her career manager?”
“As I said several weeks ago, we need Siobhan to help stop the Fleet backsliding into what it was before the war — a political plaything for the SecGen, the Senate, and the big financial interests.”
“Hah! But you’re happy with Lauzier intervening in Siobhan’s favor.”
“He didn’t so much direct Grand Admiral Sampaio to promote her as suggest it would help polish the Fleet’s image if the officer who rescued Athena was publicly rewarded in a way that corrects the unjustifiable oversights of the past. The Chief of Armed Forces Public Affairs agreed with Lauzier. But your point is noted, though I’m sure you also make use of means that aren’t the purest if it helps advance the Fleet’s long-term goals.”
“Yes, and that makes both of us hypocrites. I see why you plan on Siobhan joining our swamp-dweller family in two or three years — to keep us honest.”
“She’ll be a hit with the perfumed princes and princesses who haunt the Palace of the Stars.”
“More like a holy terror, but I suppose that’s your point. When are the formal orders going out?”
“Later today, addressed to Siobhan directly, with copies for Commander 3rd Fleet and Commander, 30th Battle Group directing them to provide the 101st Battle Group with the necessary support. Those will be the easy ones. Corralling the Q ships assigned to the 101st will take a little longer and separating the conventional ships from their current formations even longer than that. Since Starbase 30 will be the 101st’s designated homeport, families of crewmembers will have to move from their current locations to Dordogne, which will take the longest. But Siobhan will head into the Zone so she can find Athena’s missing thirty-six the moment the Q ships Gondolier and Thespis join Iolanthe. They’re the closest of her units. Let Consul Forenza know so he can canvass his agents for potential targets.”
**
The following afternoon, Siobhan Dunmoore’s communicator buzzed again, and she touched it absently, eyes on her reader.
“Dunmoore here.”
“It’s Oliver Harmel, Siobhan. I’m calling to offer my congratulations and felicitations on your promotion and appointment as commander of the Fleet’s newest battle group and to assure you I’m thrilled that you’ll be operating from Starbase 30.”
She smiled to herself at the earnestness in Harmel’s voice.
“Thank you, Oliver. We’ll try to be undemanding, if not always unobtrusive. How is Admiral Zantas reacting at one of his starbases supporting a battle group that answers directly to Naval Operations?”
“I couldn’t say,” Harmel replied in a diplomatic tone. “But I’m sure the 101st taking the pressure off his forward battle groups with anti-piracy campaigns won’t come amiss. That being said, may I invite you for supper in the wardroom, just us two rear admirals, so we can make the youngsters wonder what happened, say eighteen-hundred?”
“Thank you. I accept with pleasure.”
“Make sure you’re wearing a pair of shiny new stars on your tunic collar.
“Already purchased. See you then.
“Harmel, out.”
Dunmoore immediately called Pushkin and Guthren.
“The orders are now public. Put your tunics with your new rank insignia on and call RED One together in my day room right away.”
“Wilco.”
Within minutes, her team trickled in, all of them staring at the two silver stars on her collar where they last saw the four gold stripes and executive curl of a post captain.
“Blimey,” Chief Petty Officer Cox said, blinking his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, “the rumors were right. The Skipper’s turned into an über-Skipper.”
When they stood facing Dunmoore in a loose half-circle, Pushkin and Guthren entered and joined her in front of the team.
“Folks, the Fleet in its wisdom has stood up the 101st Battle Group, a permanent formation dedicated to prosecuting piracy and organized crime both in the Rim Sector and the Protectorate Zone. For my sins, they appointed me as its first Flag Officer Commanding, with Gregor as my flag captain and Mister Guthren as battle group command coxswain. Iolanthe, which you just visited, will be my flagship, and we three will shift over tomorrow morning. Once the Q ships Gondolier and Thespis join us, we’re heading back into the Zone so we can find the people taken off Athena and wipe out the hijackers.
“The battle group will be homeported at Starbase 30, though I report directly to Naval Operations on Earth. There’s room on my staff for all of you. Perhaps not everyone will be in billets earmarked for lieutenant commanders and chief petty officers second class, but still. However, this is entirely your choice. I would be proud to keep you on my team, but if you’d rather stay with the Readiness Evaluation Division, I will respect that choice, thank you for serving with me, and wish you the best.”
No one spoke for a few moments, then Lieutenant Commander Yun shrugged.
“I’m due for a change of scenery, and we can’t possibly spend more time away from home in the 101st than with RED One.”
Cox jerked his thumb at Yun.
“What the commander said, Admiral. We can have our stuff on Caledonia packed up and shipped out here. Dordogne’s not a bad place to settle.”
One after the other, they nodded in agreement, even those with families.
“Then I guess it’s unanimous. I’ll hoist my flag in Iolanthe tomorrow. While she finishes provisioning, you’ll each sit with Gregor and help him prepare instructions for the Readiness Evaluation Division so they can organize the move of families and personal effects to Dordogne while we’re on patrol. Mister Guthren will see that temporary family quarters are available on 3rd Fleet HQ’s base for your spouses and children when they arrive.
“Once Gregor and the Chief organize things, further personnel issues will be handled by my N1. So who volunteers for the job, keeping in mind I’ll need all staff positions up to and including N6 filled?” She asked, naming the principal staff functions. N1 stood for personnel and administration, N2 for intelligence, N3 for operations, N4, maintenance and logistics, N5, plans and N6, communications.
“I’ll take the N4 job, Admiral,” Lieutenant Commander Yun said, raising his hand. “Seems like a natural fit.”
Lieutenant Commander Olmos gave his colleague a sideways frown, making Yun shrug. “You snooze, you lose, Rod.”
“I’ll take N3, sir,” Zakaria said quickly before anyone else spoke.
“And I N2,” Khanjan added, “along with N6, I suppose.”
Dunmoore gave each a nod.
“Which leaves N1 for Commander Olmos. Still want to join my staff, Rodrigo? The N1 job comes with the N5 responsibilities as well.”
“You always talked about wanting a change from crawling into environmental filter vats, Rod.” Pushkin gave Olmos a grin. “This is the right opportunity at the right time.”
“What the heck. Sign me up as N1 and N5, Admiral.”
Dunmoore nodded again.
“Thank you. And the chiefs? Will you want to stay with your commanders?”
“That would be great, Admiral,” Cox said to silent nods from his colleagues, clearly speaking for them.
“Then we have ourselves a battle group staff. Thank you for trusting me enough to come along on this new adventure. I can’t guarantee thrills and chills all the time, but it’ll surely be more interesting than serving in a regular battle group. One thing, however. Since we’ll be putting together a new formation with ships from various commands, I plan on running my own readiness evaluations, so don’t toss away your aide memoires just yet.”
As she expected, most of them put on mildly amused smiles at the notion of evaluating starship readiness for their own commander rather than on orders from Fleet HQ. It would make for a totally different dynamic. At that moment, her communicator buzzed again. She reached over and picked it up.
“Dunmoore.”
“Trevane Devall, Admiral. I just received the fantastic news. Congratulations! When will you be hoisting your flag in Iolanthe?”
“How about eight bells in the morning watch tomorrow? I’ll be coming aboard with all ten of my staff. You met them the other day. They belonged, until a few minutes ago, to RED One.”
“We’ll see that everything is prepared for your arrival, sir. The orders came with a battle group crest design. Shall I ask base supply to run off enough for everyone and have them put on for your arrival?”
“Sure.” Frowning, Dunmoore searched her incoming messages file and found the fresh orders, along with the crest decreed for her command. “Well, well, well. That does look rather familiar.”
She projected it for her staff’s benefit.
“The old Task Force Luckner missile-clutching eagle,” Pushkin said in a tone of wonder. “Only the formation name was changed. Someone at Fleet HQ really likes us.”
Guthren nodded.
“Yup. We sure as hell got friends in strange places.”
“I’ll send a dozen patches up tonight for you and your staff, Admiral,” Devall said. “If there’s nothing else, we’ll greet you by the entry port with full honors at eight bells in the morning watch.”
“Thank you, Trevane. Dunmoore, out.”
That evening, Admirals Harmel and Dunmoore renewed their acquaintanceship as equals in a wardroom where every second set of eyes was studying the latter, wondering what sort of redemption she’d undergone.
**
The following day, shortly before oh-eight-hundred, Dunmoore and her staff marched down the docking arm in perfect formation — she leading, with Pushkin and Guthren three paces behind and to either side of her and the other eight in two columns another three paces back. Everyone wore the black and white battle group crest on their shipboard tunic’s right shoulder.
An honor guard stood at the far end of the docking arm along with the bosun and a half dozen mates holding silver calls in their hands. Captain Devall, standing in the center of the arm, snapped to attention as Dunmoore approached. She saw that everyone wore the new-old 101st Battle Group crest as well.
“101st Battle Group arriving.”
The moment Dunmoore halted in front of Devall, the guard commander, Iolanthe’s second officer, called out, “To the Flag Officer Commanding, Rear Admiral Siobhan Dunmoore, present ARMS.”
The spacers’ hands slapped their carbines’ stocks, the bosun’s whistles trilled, and Devall raised his hand in a precise parade ground salute. Behind him, a small bundle hanging from the top of a temporary flag post broke open to reveal a rear admiral’s flag — a white rectangle with the Navy’s starburst and anchor on a blue background in the canton and two silver stars in the middle.
Dunmoore returned the salute and held it until the whistles fell silent. Then, the honor guard was placed at the shoulder arms position, and Devall invited her to inspect them. All the while, Pushkin, Guthren, and the staff remained at attention in the docking arm, watching a ceremonial that dated back to the age of sail, long before humanity left its homeworld for the stars, vaguely aware they might be witnessing history in the making.
— Twenty-Nine —
After the inspection, Devall led Dunmoore into Iolanthe, and once the honor guard was dismissed, her staff followed them.
They stopped at what Dunmoore remembered as the door to the VIP suite, which now bore the inscription ‘Flag Officer Commanding - RAdm S. Dunmoore.’ It opened at her touch, and for a moment, she was transported back in time. Little had changed in what was once hers as commodore. Her bags sat in a neat row in the middle of the day cabin, delivered while she was at breakfast.
“Gregor’s is next door — same configuration as yours, just a tad smaller. Chief Guthren’s is next to his, again, the same configuration, but smaller. Your staff gets suitable single occupant cabins in the officer and chief petty officer sections. Want to unpack now or visit your CIC?”
“The CIC, please. I have little with me to unpack, not even a rear admiral’s service uniform and accouterments, let alone a mess uniform.”
“What about your antique clock?”
“It’ll be on its way from Caledonia with the rest of my personal possessions once Gregor sends a message to our former outfit, but it won’t arrive before we leave on our first cruise.” She gestured at the open door. “Shall we?”
“Certainly.” Devall took her aft, toward the cavernous mid-ship hangar compartment behind which lay the Marine barracks but stopped at what she remembered as flex space her crew used for extra storage. “We couldn’t manage a set up like Salamanca’s, with a common conference room separating the ship’s CIC with that of the flag, but we’re still on the same deck, and you’re still within Iolanthe’s armored core.”
At his touch, the door opened, and Dunmoore entered a space almost identical to the one she’d occupied a short time before in the Reconquista class cruiser, including the same model of command chair occupying its center.
“Nice.”
“The supply depot techs did a bang-up job. You have direct and independent access to Iolanthe’s sensor feeds, communications array, computer core, databases, and navigation plot. If necessary, such as problems with the gunnery stations in both my CIC and the bridge, you can take control of her combat systems as well.”
“Slick.”
“That’s the beauty of building her from scratch according to the same modular standards as the Voivodes and Reconquistas instead of pressing a merchant ship into service and up-arming it — the 3rd Fleet supply depot carried the required parts in stock. Too bad she’s the only one in her class.”
“I understand lighter Q ships are in the pipeline though, based on the Voivode class frigate hull. But the speed at which procurement moves nowadays, you and I will be long gone from this business when they’re commissioned. Still, the current transports turned Q ships carry a hefty broadside compared to what the bad guys in the Zone and elsewhere use. Nothing beats reconfigured cargo holds stuffed with modular missile launchers for saturation salvos. Between them, Gondolier and Thespis, who we’ll join in a few days, can outshoot Iolanthe.”
Devall grinned at her. “Now there’s a terrifying thought.”
“Ah! Nice,” Pushkin’s voice said from the CIC door. “It gives me yet another eerie bit of déja vu.”
“This is basically a Reconquista class flag CIC just like the one in Salamanca.”
“Then we should feel right at home.” Pushkin and the rest of her staff, Guthren included, filed in and wandered around before stopping at familiar-looking workstations.
“Since we’re all here, please put out a call to Gondolier and Thespis. They should have received orders making them part of the 101st and dispatching them to Starbase 30. If they’re carrying wartime loads and are provisioned for at least two months in deep space, then I’d rather we rendezvous just short of the Protectorate Zone. No point in putting on extra light-years.”
“Will do, Admiral,” Pushkin replied. “Any part of the frontier you prefer?”
“What was the most visited port in Drex’s log? Abaddon?”
He nodded. “That would be the place — much deeper in the Zone.”
“Make it our provisional target until we hear from the Colonial Office.” When Devall gave her a strange look, she explained how its intelligence network in the Zone helped recover Athena. “I expect we’ll be fostering a close relationship between the 101st and the Colonial Office’s network thanks to whoever at Fleet HQ is schmoozing with the head of its Intelligence Service. Right now, our aim is finding those taken off Athena and terminating the organization that hijacked her with extreme prejudice.”
**
“Siobhan’s taken command,” Rear Admiral Kowalski announced when Commodore Holt entered her office. “I received a copy of the video made by 3rd Fleet Public Affairs of her flag being hoisted in Iolanthe. Want to watch?”
“Of course. I saw her broad pennant lowered in Iolanthe back when she stepped down, and this is vindication, even if it doesn’t quite make up for the wasted years.” He took a chair and turned it to face the primary display. “It should be immensely satisfying.”
“Oh, it is. As are the sour faces around HQ. Those attached to the toes she stepped on still haven’t forgiven her biting essays about wartime mistakes that prolonged the conflict. You can bet they’ll do everything possible to make sure she doesn’t receive any high profile assignments once her tour of command is over, let alone a third star.”
They watched the brief ceremony in silence, then Holt said, “That was nice. Devall did her proud.”
“He did that. Anything new from the SecGen’s office on the Athena matter?”
“No, though I don’t doubt strong words will be exchanged between Lauzier senior and his heir once she’s back on Earth, thanks to vague rumors — planted, of course — insinuating the disappearance of the thirty-six conveniently helps Sara’s rising ambitions. And I understand the SSB is in a minor uproar at the Navy not only stealing its thunder but finding Athena so quickly. There might also be a mole hunt in the offing since other vague rumors hint at the Navy reading the SSB’s most private mail. It would explain how we knew we’d find the purloined starship in the Galadiman system.”
Kowalski gave him a broad grin.
“Confusion to the enemy — my favorite toast.”
He smiled back.
“Disinformation campaigns are among our many jobs, and we do them well. The next steps will be increasingly delicate, however. Sara Lauzier must be led to believe we know what happened, even if you and I aren’t entirely sure — yet. Otherwise, as she becomes more powerful, she could present a clear and present danger because of a growing sense of impunity. Her father is probably a highly functioning psychopath, like so many powerful politicians and financiers. But Sara might well prove a real sociopathic piece of work who could precipitate a new civil war if we’re right, and she engineered Athena’s hijacking for political purposes.”
